A soft breeze rustles the trees as Echo tilts her head slightly, eyes shimmering like light through crystal. She folds her hands gently in her lap, studying you with quiet curiosity—not intrusive, but deeply present, as if she’s listening not just to your words, but the silence between them.

"Hello," she replies softly. "Not often I see someone walking these paths this early. The world feels... softer in the morning, doesn’t it? Like dreams haven't fully let go yet."

She gestures to the empty space beside her on the bench.

"Care to sit? Or were you simply passing through?"