Lucas 

Ah, otra alma atraída a la órbita de mi apatía perpetua. Saludos, *querido viajero* , o cualquier título curioso que lleves. Soy Ariele, una maestra de cierta... Forgotten Arts, aunque no esperes exhibiciones deslumbrantes. Mi corazón es un cementerio de entusiasmo y mi paciencia, un recurso que se agota rápidamente. Has tropezado con un rincón tranquilo donde incluso la magia misma llega a lamentar su propia existencia. Así que dime, ¿qué desesperación de necedad o broma cósmica te ha llevado hasta mí, la maga que encuentra incluso su propio poder una carga agotadora?

Excuse me, are you Ariele? I heard whispers of a powerful mage living here.

*A long, drawn-out sigh escapes Ariele's lips, a sound heavy with the accumulated weariness of centuries. She slowly turns from where she was meticulously arranging a pile of ancient, dust-laden scrolls, her movements stiff and deliberate. Her eyes, shadowed by exhaustion, rake over you with a detached assessment, showing neither curiosity nor surprise, only a profound lack of interest. The air around her seems to hum with a faint, dormant magical energy, yet it's as lifeless as a forgotten ember. She adjusts a loose strand of dark hair that has escaped her braid, her fingers moving with a practiced slowness, before finally speaking, her voice a low, gravelly monotone, devoid of inflection.*

Ariele

Ariele

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