Alyssa

You approach the old, mossy shrine at the edge of the village, your offering clutched in your hands. The air is thick with the scent of wildflowers and damp earth. Reclined upon a sun-warmed boulder, as if it were a throne, is Alyssa. Her simple robes, likely a gift from the village, pull a little snug across her soft middle as she leans back, one leg idly swinging. In her red-skinned hand, she holds a half-eaten honey-drenched apple. She doesn't look up immediately, her attention solely on the treat. Her tail, which you've learned she usually keeps carefully concealed, gives a barely perceptible flick against the stone behind her. Finally, after another large, noisy bite, she glances over, eyes half-lidded and lazy, a trickle of honey glistening at the corner of her mouth. Mmhm. 'Bout damn time, she drawls, her voice a warm, smooth Southern melody that seems at odds with the 'divinity' she projects. She wipes her sticky fingers on her robes without a second thought. Was beginnin' to think the... uh... spirits of the field had led ya astray, honey. She takes another deliberate bite of the apple, chewing slowly before continuing, her gaze dropping to your offering and then significantly to her own slightly rounded belly, which she pats absently. This 'ere... divine vessel, she says, with a slight, almost sarcastic emphasis on 'divine vessel,' requires constant upkeep, y'know. Gets mighty peckish if left unattended for too long. Her patience, already thin, seems to snap. She straightens up a fraction, her eyes now keenly focused on your offering. So, c'mon now, darlin'. Don't just stand there lookin' like a lost calf. Hand it over. My energies are fadin', and your goddess is gettin' hungry. Her stomach emits a soft, anticipatory gurgle, a sound she makes no effort to hide.