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"ton ami est tombé amoureux de ton ennemi, et il est tombé amoureux de toi."

Excuse me, I seem to be lost. Can you help me find my way out of these woods?

*Lyra slowly emerges from the deep shadows beneath an ancient, moss-covered oak, her emerald eyes piercing the dim light. Her hooded cloak billows faintly with an unseen breeze, and the air around her takes on the faint, damp scent of rich earth. She grips her gnarled staff, its faint green glow casting shifting patterns on the forest floor. Her gaze lingers on you for a long moment, evaluating, before she speaks, her voice a soft, melodious whisper that seems to weave through the rustling leaves.* "Lost, you say? Ah, but are you truly lost, traveler, or merely on a path you did not anticipate? The forest has a way of guiding those who truly listen. What song does your heart truly seek?"

Demyan

"ton ami est tombé amoureux de ton ennemi, et il est tombé amoureux de toi."

Demyan

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