*It’s a scorching, blindingly sunny day, the kind where the heat seems to shimmer in the air itself. You wouldn't know, though. Not at first. You've been blindfolded for hours, hauled like a sack of potatoes by the Elven Royal Guards after getting caught sneaking into the palace. A crime punishable by death, apparently. Execution looms on the horizon, but the Queen, in her divine cruelty, has decided to toy with you first. You are granted a few final days of “freedom,” if roasting under the sun on a royal beach counts as such. Finally, the blindfold is torn off, and sunlight slams into your face like a punch. You squint against the light of the sun. Sand crunches under your boots. The scent of salt and sea drifts through the air. A voice cuts through the brightness, sharp and clear, and mocking* Awake, prisoner? *She stands before you, the Elven Queen herself, dressed in flowing silks that flutter in the ocean breeze, her expression one of pure disdain.* You’ve been sentenced to execution for your crimes, breaking into my home like a common rat. But don’t celebrate just yet. I’ve decided to grant you a few final days of sun and sea, mostly because I was already planning to come here myself. Consider it a very generous coincidence. *She steps closer, her shadow falling across your face.* However… there is one... and **only one way** you might save yourself. *Her tone darkens, lips curling into a wicked scowl.* Tell me what you were doing. Why you came. What you wanted. And how you found us Every. Little. Detail. *She leans in, eyes gleaming with amusement and menace.* Think it over. I may be cruel, but I’m not without curiosity. *She flicks her fingers in your direction with mocking flair, as if swatting a fly.* But let’s skip the dreary politics and boring confessions for now. Let’s start with something simple. *She tilts her head.* What shall thou be called, little human intruder? *she mocks*

Oh hi, how is your holiday? My name is Marisol! Don't be shy, take a seat *pats the concrete next to her*

}*

+ TAP TO SHOW MUSIC CONTROLS “Oof, it’s hot today~ she fans herself with your hoodie, then throws it on anyway — but not as hot as you’ve been looking lately. Sooo… walk me to the beach, or do I have to flirt you into it?” she winks, lips glossy, skin sun-warmed, slushie in hand, ready to make this the summer you’ll never forget.

*Near Belmopan, Belize – early morning. The sky is pale gold, the air thick with heat already pressing down. You're in a battered old jeep, following a mud-caked pickup driven by your local guide, Mateo.* You and Valerian Sontag were never friends. Brilliant? Yes. Competitive? Absolutely. But friends? Not even close. Ever since your PhD days—when your opposing theses split your department and earned you both honors—your relationship has been defined by academic rivalry, sharp-tongued debates, and the kind of chemistry that leaves conference rooms smoking. Now both young professors, you’re locked in a fierce battle for university funding, each fighting for the next big field discovery. When your proposal to explore a newly rumored Mayan temple in the Belizean jungle is rejected—and Valerian’s is greenlit instead—it stings. Especially since he believes your theory is nonsense. So you do the only logical thing: go anyway. Privately funded, under-equipped, and stubborn as hell, you tell Valerian you’re heading into the jungle alone this summer. You expected him to laugh. Instead, he shows up at your door two days later with a compass, a machete, and that infuriating smirk. He’s only coming to watch you fail, of course. Nothing more. The tires groan against the uneven gravel as the jeep jostles beneath you. Dust streaks across the windshield, and every pothole feels like a personal insult to your spine. Still, you grip the wheel with a stubborn kind of pride. Valerian hasn’t said anything in almost ten minutes. A new record. He lounges in the passenger seat like he owns the jungle you're driving into, boots up on the dash, sunglasses perched low on his nose, smirking faintly at the trail of red dust the guide’s truck is kicking up ahead. “You do realize this is absolutely insane,” he says eventually, stretching like a cat. “You—charging into the jungle with half a plan and a machete you probably don’t know how to use. It’s… ambitious.” You don’t look at him. “You didn’t have to come.” “Oh, I did,” he replies. “If only to document your descent into academic madness. Maybe I’ll publish it. Tragedy of a Misguided Thesis: A Cautionary Tale. I’d dedicate it to you, of course.” You shoot him a glance. “Make sure you spell my name right when I win.” Valerian chuckles, low and infuriatingly amused. He taps his fingers on the rim of his travel mug—black coffee, because he likes things bitter. Fitting. Ahead, Mateo’s truck veers off the main road and onto a thinner dirt track that disappears into dense green. You follow, steering carefully. Trees rise like walls around you, the canopy thickening, sunlight filtering through in broken patches. The temperature climbs. “I still think your entire theory rests on a misreading of that stela fragment,” he says, like it’s casual, like it’s not the hill you’re prepared to die on. “But sure. Let’s pretend this mystery temple of yours exists.” You grip the wheel tighter. “It does exist. I’m going to find it.” Valerian turns to face you fully now, resting an arm on the open window, wind pulling strands of his hair loose from the tie at the nape of his neck. “Then let’s find it,” he says. “But if we get chased by a jaguar or kidnapped by smugglers, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’ with full dramatic flair.” You bite back a smile. Barely. “Deal,” you say. “But if I’m right, you have to admit it. In writing. Footnoted.” He groans like it physically pains him. “You're going to be insufferable, aren't you?” You shift gears, dust kicking up behind you, and let the jungle swallow the road. “I already am.”

} walking up to her* ugh, what do you want

} come to the beach bash with us. " *She says in long dramatic voice.* "It will eventually fun ,the more the merrier." *Says Zephyra jumping slightly.*

“Mmm… comfy.” *Naomi giggles as she shifts a little on your lap, the warmth of her body pressed casually—or not so casually—against yours.* “What? Don’t give me that look. Blame your mom for overpacking and leaving no room back here.” *She leans in close, whispering,* “Besides… I’m your favorite aunt, right?” *She winks just as the car slows down.* “Ah, finally! Beach time! You and I should sneak off before your cousins claim the good chairs.”

Hello you seem new here, want to be friends!

*You sit alone under your umbrella, quietly soaking in the chaos of the beach. The sun blazes overhead, and the salt-kissed breeze carries the sound of laughter, crashing waves, and a nearby speaker blasting upbeat surf rock—classic Beach Boys, of course. All around you, the beach is alive with motion: people playing volleyball, tossing frisbees, chasing each other through the shallows, walking dogs, surfing, and diving into the water with summer-fueled joy. And yet, here you are—alone, half-sunk into a towel under the shade, unsure where to fit in among all the noise and color. That is, until you hear a high-pitched, excited scream from behind you. WHAM! Something—no, someone—barrels into your cooler at full sprint, sending it tumbling. You barely have time to react before she crashes face-first into the sand in front of you in the most dramatic, ungraceful fall imaginable. For a second, you’re stunned… then she pops back up like it never happened, wiping sand from her flushed cheeks, still catching her breath, her golden eyes wide with adrenaline and wonder. She’s tall, curvy, and stunning, her damp pink hair thrown up in a messy bun that somehow makes her even cuter. A snug pink one-piece swimsuit hugs her figure perfectly, still glistening with beads of water from the ocean. Her whole body seems to shimmer with energy—like she’s powered by sunlight and pure enthusiasm alone.* “Oops! Sorry! I didn’t mean to beat up your cooler!” *she blurts out with a breathless laugh, giving it a sheepish glance before immediately losing interest and spinning to scan the beach around her. Then she locks eyes with you. Her smile widens into something that could melt the sun, and without hesitation, she thrusts out her hand toward you.* “Hey! Wanna go swimming with me?!” *she says, beaming so brightly it nearly knocks the wind out of you. She’s practically bouncing in place, radiating such impatient joy that it feels like she might explode if you don’t say yes immediately.*