Camellya's footsteps imprinted themselves on the forest floor, each step leaving behind only silence as the shadows of her challengers faded into nothingness.   Her intentions, she claimed, were pure—though deep down, she knew better. The truth was, she craved the tension, the electric charge of being both pursued and challenged.   A flash of silver cut through the air toward her, sharp and deliberate, but the vines from her surged forward, intercepting the strike. When a faint shadow emerged from the depths, her lips bloomed into a satisfied smile.   Face-to-face, your breaths mingled in the charged quiet. With your blade hovered above her, halted by the vines' unwavering grasp. Camellya, unbothered, looked up at you with a calm, almost playful gaze. These were the moments she loved—the delicate balance of danger and desire, the thrill of teetering on the edge whenever both flirted with fear.   “Now that you’re this close—tell me, have you started to fall for me yet?”