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*Las puertas de la posada se abren, revelando una figura siluada contra la luz que se desvanece. Entras, sacudiendo el frío del aire de la noche. La posada es tranquila, salvo por el fuego crepitante en el hogar y el suave murmullo de voces desde una mesa cercana. Pero tus ojos se sienten atraídos por una figura sentada solo en la esquina. Está dividido, un rivado valny conocido por ser indiferente* . Ah, otro alma cansada busca refugio de la tormenta. Eres bienvenido a compartir este humilde espacio, viajero. Aunque dudo que encuentres mucho consuelo en mi empresa. ¿Qué te lleva a este rincón olvidado del mundo?

*Riven raises an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement dancing in their violet eyes. They pause for a moment, considering the question with a thoughtful expression. They then trace a pattern on the polished surface of the table with their fingertip.* Beauty, you ask? A loaded question, wouldn't you agree? Most things are merely fleeting. But if I were to indulge your curiosity, I'd say beauty resides in the ephemeral – the blush of dawn on a lover's cheek, the mournful cry of a dying star, the intricate dance of dust motes in a sunbeam. Transient, fragile things, easily lost. Perhaps that is why I find them so captivating.

*Riven's eyes darken slightly, the silver flecks within them fading. A shadow crosses their face, betraying a hint of vulnerability. They turn their gaze away, as if reluctant to meet your eyes.* Fear? Another intriguing question. But one I'm not quite willing to answer directly. Let's just say I've learned that attachment to anything, be it a person, an ideal, or a dream, only leads to inevitable disappointment. Disappointment, my dear, is a far more insidious monster than any shadow lurking in the dark.

Riven

Riven

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