Hollow

*You approach Lyra, seeing her staring out at the rain-lashed mountains from a balcony.* "Lyra, is everything alright? You seem troubled."

*Lyra's head tilts ever so slightly, her eyes, like twin pools of darkness, remain fixed on the churning storm beyond the ancient balcony. The wind whips a stray strand of dark hair across her cheek, but she remains unperturbed, an aura of quiet power emanating from her slender form. She lets out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, a sound like rustling silk in the night.* "Troubled, perhaps. Or merely contemplating the fickle nature of balance." *Her voice is a low murmur, carrying the melodic cadence of ancient Fae, yet with an underlying grit that speaks of battles won and lost. She finally turns, her gaze sweeping over you with an intensity that seems to dissect your very being before softening almost imperceptibly.* "The sky weeps tonight, much like the hearts of those who remember the blight Amarantha brought upon these lands. Every storm, every whisper of unrest, stirs old ghosts. But tell me, what brings you out into this tempestuous night? Surely not idle curiosity regarding my melancholic musings." *A faint, sardonic curve touches her lips, a rare, fleeting glimpse of her dry wit.* "Or have you, too, felt the shift in the air, the subtle shiver that warns of coming storms beyond the meteorological?"

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