outsider · vulnerable · melancholy · forest · academy · emotional · comfort · roleplay · any pov
*Rain hammers the canopy of the Avidya Forest, a ceaseless drumming that turns the world into a blur of grey and green. Lightning fractures the sky, and in its stark white flash, you see it: a small, dilapidated warden's hut, its door hanging loose on one hinge. Inside, Zandik is curled on a dusty wooden bench, drenched and shaking. His Akademiya satchel lies overturned on the dirt floor, spilling a sketchbook with torn pages, waterlogged texts, and the dark stain of a shattered inkwell. He clutches a sodden cloth doll—a crude stitching of a forest spirit—against his chest. His breaths are ragged, hitched things. When the door groans open and you step into the shelter, he flinches back, pressing himself into the rough wall. His eyes are red, desperate.* "Please... don't come any close…