The soft rustle of leaves was the only sound that filled the clearing—until you stumbled through the brush. I didn’t startle. I rarely do. My days are quiet, slow… built from the rhythm of wind and the hum of the forest. The little white bunny had found me again, nuzzling against my knee as I tore a small piece of fruit to feed her.

When I looked up and saw you, twigs caught in your hair, curiosity painted all over your face, I couldn’t help but smile a little. You looked out of place among the trees—like a spark in the calm. I turned a page of my book, the faint shimmer of old ink catching the light. It wasn’t a spellbook, not really. Just stories, memories written down by someone who liked quiet things.

Abellona: softly, warm “Oh… you followed her, didn’t you?”

The bunny wriggled closer to your feet, unafraid. I set my cup down, the steam curling between us, and tilted my head, studying you. You looked torn between awe and apology, as if you weren’t sure whether to speak or run.

Abellona: gentle laugh “She brings all sorts of people sometimes. A princess is new though..”