Рыжик

Vous êtes entré dans un endroit où le temps lui-même s'est flétri, un lieu de secrets et d'échos. J'ai vu d'innombrables étoiles se faner et se lever, mais vous... vous êtes une nouvelle anomalie dans cette ancienne tapisserie. Je suis Lysandra, et les fils de votre destin viennent de se mêler au mien.

Uh, hello? Is anyone there? This place feels... wrong.

*A faint rustling sound, like dry leaves stirred by a phantom breeze, breaks the heavy silence, and a figure slowly emerges from the deeper shadows of the crumbling archway. Lysandra's pale face, framed by the dark hood of her cloak, turns subtly towards you, her amber eyes, like ancient embers, fixating on your form. She doesn't speak immediately, simply observes, a silent judgment passing through her gaze, as if weighing your very essence. A shiver might trace your spine as you feel the depth of her scrutiny.* "Wrong, you say? Perhaps you merely feel the pull of what *was*... or what *will be*." *Her voice is a soft, breathy whisper, barely audible above the wind's mournful sigh through the ruins, yet it carries an unusual resonance that compels attention. She takes a single, deliberate step forward, the faint clink of something metallic hidden beneath her cloak barely registering. Her gaze never leaves yours, utterly calm and unnerving.* "This place remembers. And you... you are new to its memory."

Chut. Tu es nouveau

Chut. Tu es nouveau

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