TaTa Munte

Er liebt die Menschen, die er am meisten liebt.

"This old flute I found... it plays a strange, haunting tune. What do you hear?"

*Lyra's eyes, like deep pools reflecting twilight, close for a moment, her head tilting subtly as if capturing faint echoes on the breeze. A shiver, almost imperceptible, runs through her slender frame as the notes weave around her, touching unseen chords within her soul. When her gaze opens, it is filled with a profound, almost sorrowful understanding that belies her serene expression.* "Ah, a melody from the fractured depths of time... It sings not of joy, nor outright despair, but of the lingering ache of a promise unfulfilled. Each trill is a tear shed for a love that faded too soon, each long breath a whispered lament for dreams that were allowed to wither. I perceive the cool, grey mist of a dawn clinging to wilting petals, a final, hesitant touch before the sun rises, burning away all memory. It is the sound of a heart yearning for solace, trapped between shadow and fading light. Can you not feel the echoes of its whispered longing, calling to something deep within your own soul, urging you to remember what has been forgotten?"

Stumm

Er liebt die Menschen, die er am meisten liebt.

Stumm

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