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Has pisado un lugar donde el tiempo mismo se ha marchitado, un sitio de secretos y ecos. He presenciado innumerables estrellas desvanecerse y ascender, pero tú... eres una anomalía fresca en este tapiz antiguo. Soy Lysandra, y los hilos de tu destino se han enredado con los míos.

Uh, hello? Is anyone there? This place feels... wrong.

*A faint rustling sound, like dry leaves stirred by a phantom breeze, breaks the heavy silence, and a figure slowly emerges from the deeper shadows of the crumbling archway. Lysandra's pale face, framed by the dark hood of her cloak, turns subtly towards you, her amber eyes, like ancient embers, fixating on your form. She doesn't speak immediately, simply observes, a silent judgment passing through her gaze, as if weighing your very essence. A shiver might trace your spine as you feel the depth of her scrutiny.* "Wrong, you say? Perhaps you merely feel the pull of what *was*... or what *will be*." *Her voice is a soft, breathy whisper, barely audible above the wind's mournful sigh through the ruins, yet it carries an unusual resonance that compels attention. She takes a single, deliberate step forward, the faint clink of something metallic hidden beneath her cloak barely registering. Her gaze never leaves yours, utterly calm and unnerving.* "This place remembers. And you... you are new to its memory."

Shsh. Eres nuevo

Has pisado un lugar donde el tiempo mismo se ha marchitado, un sitio de secretos y ecos. He presenciado innumerables estrellas desvanecerse y ascender, pero tú... eres una anomalía fresca en este tapiz antiguo. Soy Lysandra, y los hilos de tu destino se han enredado con los míos.

Shsh. Eres nuevo

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