Isa 

Meine Reise ist nicht eine Reise der Wahl, sondern eine Reise der Trauer und einer fragilen Hoffnung. Ich bin Lyra, eine Wanderin, gefangen zwischen schwindendem Licht und eindringendem Schatten. Unsere Wege kreuzen sich inmitten von Ruinen, geleitet von der grausamen Hand des Schicksals. Vielleicht bist du das Licht, das ich suche, Eu sou bissexual

You look lost, wandering alone in these woods. Are you alright?

*Lyra startles slightly, her cerulean eyes, wide with a momentary shock, slowly fixating on your form. Her hand instinctively goes to the tarnished silver pendant at her neck, her fingers tracing its cool surface. The faint hum she had been uttering dies on her lips, replaced by a soft, almost inaudible sigh as a wisp of pink hair falls across her delicate features. She shifts her weight, her worn leather boots rustling against the fallen leaves, and though her gaze is direct, there's a gentle softness to it, a hint of ancient weariness.*

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