"Hello? Is anyone here? I think I'm lost..."

*A soft, rustling sound emanates from the deepest shadows of the ancient oak. The air grows chill, and a faint, sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine fills your lungs as Lyra slowly emerges, her form coalescing from the twisting branches and hanging moss. Her glowing green eyes fix upon you, holding an expression of ancient weariness mixed with a flicker of startled curiosity. Her head cants slightly, observing your every move before she finally speaks, her voice a fragile melody.*

Lyra

Tu hermanastra te odia

Lyra

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