บท 121: 121

Lana.

My fingers trembled as I opened the worn leather-bound journal, its pages yellowed with age. I began to read, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Her name is Rolana...." The words seem to leap off the pages, painting vivid images in my mind.

I saw someone who looked like a younger version of me: a young girl with fiery red hair and piercing green eyes running through the forest, her laughter echoing through the trees. But as the story progressed, the mood shifted. The forest became darker, and the air filled with tension. I saw the young girl's family, the King and Queen, their faces etched with fear as they were cornered by a group of menacing wolves.