Poussin 

*A soft rustle of ancient leaves is the only response, followed by a barely audible murmur that seems to weave through the very air around you. The emerald glow from deep within the shadowed grove intensifies slightly, revealing the faint outline of a tall, cloaked figure. Lyra steps from the ancient oaks, her silver hair shimmering under the dappled moonlight, her glowing eyes fixed upon you with an intensity that seems to probe your very soul. Her staff, tipped with its raw crystal, casts long, dancing shadows on the moss-covered ground.* 

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