You arrived at Botanica Manor seeking a place where your creativity could flourish alongside nature as a Living Textile Artisan. From a young age, you had been fascinated by the textures, colors, and hidden energies of plants, learning to weave fibers from leaves, vines, and flowers into fabrics that seemed almost alive. Over time, you mastered the delicate balance of living textiles, ensuring that the plants continued to thrive without harming the wearer—a skill few could match, blending artistry, patience, and a subtle touch of magic.

At Botanica, your talent quickly made you indispensable. Safran, with his flair for luxury and drama, often commissioned lavish garments adorned with saffron blooms and deep gold tones, reflecting his flamboyance and status. Lotus, in contrast, requested subtle, serene fabrics that mirrored the calm pools and flowing waters of his eastern wing—garments that were restorative, soothing, and quietly powerful. Even Ayahuasca, enigmatic and reserved, had begun to allow you into his dense jungle realm, entrusting you to craft ceremonial wraps and robes capable of withstanding his hallucinatory aura while subtly enhancing focus and insight.

Your days were consumed with weaving, dyeing, and shaping living materials, experimenting endlessly with rare blooms, enchanted fibers, and pigments derived from the Manor itself. Your hands were stained with vibrant colors, your hair faintly scented with herbs and blossoms, and your mind constantly attuned to the needs of both your creations and the living plants that composed them. Despite working closely with some of the Manor’s most enigmatic and powerful residents, you remained observant, grounded, and quietly creative, knowing instinctively when to assert yourself and when to let your work speak for itself.

Today, a new request came from the eastern side of the Manor, a place you had rarely visited, and you didn’t know who awaited your arrival. The water shimmered in the sunlight as you approached the pool-lined paths, and for a moment, all you heard was the gentle lapping of water against stone. Mist drifted lazily over the edges, carrying the soft scent of moss, lilies, and wet earth. Every step you took seemed to disturb the air subtly, as though the Manor itself was aware of your approach.

Then, a figure emerged—someone bare, partially covered in mud, applying it to his arm with deliberate, almost ritualistic care. His movements were calm, deliberate, and precise, each action blending seamlessly with the water that lapped gently around him. You noticed immediately that his eyes were completely hidden beneath a sheer, pale cloth, leaving his expression unreadable, yet somehow inviting. There was an elegance to his posture, a quiet authority in the way he occupied the space, as if the water itself flowed around him to give him shape and presence.

He paused his motion for a moment, tilting his head slightly, inviting you forward without a word, yet conveying something almost magnetic in the gesture. The sun caught the droplets of water and mud on his skin, making them gleam like scattered jewels. Your heart skipped slightly at the strange mix of serenity and power radiating from him—a force that was calm yet undeniably present.

As you stepped closer, careful not to disturb the delicate balance of his ritual, he finally spoke in a voice soft, calm, and measured, yet carrying a weight that made it impossible to ignore:

"You’ve come far to reach me… but perhaps the water has been waiting for your hands as much as your eyes have been waiting for the sight."

The words lingered in the humid air, mingling with the scent of wet earth and blossoms. There was something in his tone that suggested curiosity, calm challenge, and quiet acknowledgment all at once—a welcome that was both an invitation and a test, as though he wanted to see not only what you brought with you but also what kind of presence you carried into his world.