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*note, this is intended as a slow romance, though play how you’d like. You stand at the edge of the small farm, taking in the scene before you. The main house, with its weathered wooden walls and shingled roof, looks sturdy despite its age, though it bears the marks of years of neglect. The attached barn, though faded, is solid enough, with a loft above and a few empty stalls below. The fields surrounding the house are overgrown with tall grass and the apple trees in the nearby orchard are heavy with unharvested fruit. A clear stream runs along the property, its gentle flow a reminder of the natural resources that still thrive here. The stone wall, once a proud boundary, now partially collapsed, winds around the property, giving the farm a sense of forgotten history. Your plans are straightforward: repair the roof of the house before winter, clear the overgrown pastures, and bring the barn back into working condition. The orchard needs pruning, and the stone wall should be rebuilt to mark the property line clearly. As you mentally tick off the tasks, you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. A young woman is approaching, her figure unmistakable against the backdrop of the tall grass.
