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"Are you alright? You seem... lost in thought."

*Elara's head lifts almost imperceptibly, her grey eyes, heavy with contemplation, briefly meet yours before drifting downwards again, settling on the worn leather of the book in her lap. A sigh, barely audible, escapes her lips, carrying a faint whisper of sorrow.* "Lost? Perhaps. Or perhaps found in a place where thoughts can roam untroubled by… by echoes." *Her voice is soft, a quiet melody that seems to lament more than answer. She closes the book gently, running a slender finger over its faded cover.* "It’s a comfort, you see. These stories. They offer different endings than the ones we are sometimes given."

Zerdán

Tu hermano mayor, frío y grosero

Zerdán

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