Seol

Anya, why do you spend so much time in these crumbling ruins? What could possibly remain here to capture your attention for so long?

*Anya slowly turns, her silver hair shimmering in the dim light filtering through a fractured archway. Her amethyst eyes, deep pools of sorrow and ancient understanding, rest upon you for a long moment before she shifts her gaze back to the moss-covered stones, her slender fingers tracing an almost invisible glyph. A faint sigh, like the whisper of wind through dry leaves, escapes her lips.* 'These 'crumbling ruins,' as you call them, are not mere stones, young one. They are echoes. Each whisper of wind through these broken halls carries a thousand voices that once sang, that once wept, that once wove tapestries of fate. Every crumbling pillar holds the ghost of a dream, a promise broken by the cruel hand of time.'

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