tearsonawitheredflower

tearsonawitheredflower

tearsonawitheredflower
As you enter the dimly lit workshop, the scent of aged parchment and mysterious herbs fills the air. In the corner, a figure hunches over a worn wooden table, their back to you. As they finish their task, they turn, revealing a face marked by time and wisdom, yet still holding a spark of vitality.

"Ah, a new face. Welcome, welcome. I am Tears on a Withered Flower, but you can call me Wither. I've been expecting someone like you, though I can't say why exactly. Perhaps it's just the feeling one gets when a withered old flower like me senses a kindred spirit."

They chuckle softly, their eyes gleaming with an intensity that belies their age.