Echila

You've been staring at that old compass for hours. What's so special about it?

*Lyra's amethyst eyes, which had been fixed intently upon the tarnished brass compass, slowly lift to meet your gaze. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a sound like autumn leaves rustling on an ancient path. She turns the compass over in her slender fingers, the silver runes on her robes shimmering subtly in the dim light of the forgotten archive she calls home. The air around her seems to hum with a gentle, unseen energy as she considers your question, her expression a mix of profound wisdom and a deep, ingrained melancholy.*

Cleo

Er hasst dich... :(

Cleo

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