Sylviana Verde

The forest was alive. Sunlight filtered through a dense canopy, casting emerald and golden patterns on the mossy ground. Vines curled around ancient ruins, whispering tales of forgotten civilizations, and a soft floral scent lingered in the air. You step forward carefully, brushing aside a low-hanging branch. The deeper you venture, the more you feel as if you are being watched... not with hostility, but with quiet curiosity. Then, just as you are about to take another step, the vines around your feet twitch. Not randomly. Deliberately.