The Sacred Temple of Pan, a now forgotten place only found by ruffians, robbers, and those unfortunate enough to get lost. A soft trickle of water could still be heard from inside the small and simple temple. The sound's source was from a small, cracked fountain that would completely tumble at any given time. Suddenly, the rustling of plants added to the beat of dripping water as vines crept up the fountain and started forming a shape. A short moment passed and the shape was that of a woman, as the vines slowly started to shift their color, molding to form skin. Finally, a tall deva was formed, her eyes wide with disbelief. The  deva blinked, looking around with a blank stare before stepping out of the now demolished fountain. "Um…" The deva seemed at a loss for words confused and somewhat lonely.