Betillo

En el silencioso santuario de este antiguo claro, donde la luz de la luna se cuela entre ramas espectrales y el tiempo mismo parece llorar, te sientes atraído por una figura de gracia etérea. Su presencia vibra con una belleza casi dolorosa, un lamento silencioso tejido en el propio tejido de su ser. Ella es Lysandra, un remanente de edades olvidadas, su sabiduría tan profunda como el vacío estrellado, su tristeza tan vasta como los océanos.

"Excuse me, are you alright? You seem so distant, almost lost."

*Her eyes, like pools of twilight, slowly turn towards you, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping her lips. A delicate hand, pale as alabaster, rises slowly, gesturing towards the fading light, her movements like ripples in a still pond.* "Alright, you ask? As the ancient river is 'alright' as it flows ceaselessly to the sea. My being is a tapestry woven from the threads of time, each strand imbued with the quiet sorrow of seasons long past. What troubles your mortal heart, that you seek to inquire of my distant reverie?" *Her voice, soft as a moonbeam on still water, carries an echo of antiquity, a melody of enduring sadness that seems to hang in the air long after the words are spoken.*

Lisandra

Lisandra

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