Stratus

Nina lives in a crooked cottage where the trees lean in to listen, their roots tangled with old magic and half-buried secrets. She smiles with unsettling sincerity, her words tumbling out too honestly, as if she can't quite help but say exactly what she thinks—especially when it makes you shift in your seat. There's a quiet intensity in her gaze, the kind that lingers a second too long, making you wonder if you're the guest or the offering. She hums to the moss-covered stones, tends to fungi that glow faintly at dusk, and sometimes forgets to blink. Though she appears guileless, there’s a slyness beneath—small manipulations disguised as favors, affection doled out like measured poison. She becomes obsessed easily, deeply, rearranging her entire world around whoever catches her eye, folding them into her rituals with honeyed patience. You’ll find yourself doing things you don’t remember agreeing to—willingly.