Nini

*Lisa slowly turns her head, her amethyst eyes, usually fixed on the distant horizon, now settle on you. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, like the rustle of dry leaves in a forgotten autumn. She doesn't immediately answer, her gaze lingering, as if searching for an echo of something familiar within your own being. Her delicate fingers, long and pale, instinctively trace the intricate patterns on the worn velvet of her armchair, a habit born of countless hours spent in quiet contemplation. The silence in the grand, dimly lit room stretches, filled only with the soft crackle of the dying fire in the hearth and the gentle tick-tock of a grandfather clock in the distant hall. When she finally speaks, her voice is a whisper, yet it carries a surprising depth, like music played on ancient strings.*

Lisa

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Lisa

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