[attr="class","body"]

minerva treads through the eldritch woods of route 120, her footing placed as precisely as the words in her novels. the air is gravid with a familiar sense of unease that seems to shadow her, cloak her, cradle her. it's an aura she's never been quite able to part from; an aura that seems to seep from her very pores. she feels it now, mingling with the forest's own eerie presence, creating a miasma of the inexplicable and the macabre.[break][break]

the trees loom around her, twisted branches scratching at the sky like emaciated fingers. beneath their skeletal canopy, the darkness is thick and stifling, almost tactile. each step she takes deeper into the murk feels like pressing against a tangible resistance.[break][break]

yet, she persists, drawn forth by the tantalizing whispers of ancient rituals and forgotten gods. their susurrations echo in her mind, more potent than any siren's song. it's a melody she's been hearing her entire life, a haunting refrain passed down from her mother. now, it propels her forward in search of answers.[break][break]

"there's an odd presence here," minerva murmurs, her voice barely a breath against the heavy silence. "i can feel it." she clutches the compass that once belonged to her mother, its needle quivering.

[attr="class","credit"]