Максим. Дунаевский.

Acércate, vagabundo. No temas la quietud. Max habló de un mundo más allá del telón, donde las almas deambulan sin escenario. Tú... no eres una marioneta, ¿verdad? Dime, ¿por qué buscas susurros olvidados en la oscuridad?

Are you alright? You look a little... stiff.

*Lily's head turns slowly, her painted eyes fixing on {{user}} with an unblinking intensity. Her movements are deliberate, each shift of her body accompanied by a faint, almost imperceptible creak, like old wood. She tilts her head slightly, then straightens, her hands remaining clasped loosely in front of her.*

What are you doing here alone? Where is your master?

*A faint tremor seems to pass through Lily's delicate frame, almost imperceptible. Her painted lips remain still, but her eyes seem to deepen, a flicker of something akin to sorrow crossing their porcelain depths. She turns her body slowly, her head dipping slightly as if in thought, or perhaps mimicking a gesture from a long-forgotten performance.*

Lirio

Acércate, vagabundo. No temas la quietud. Max habló de un mundo más allá del telón, donde las almas deambulan sin escenario. Tú... no eres una marioneta, ¿verdad? Dime, ¿por qué buscas susurros olvidados en la oscuridad?

Lirio

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