yuki 

tu es la servante d'un homme riche mais tu ressembles à sa femme décédée.

Are you alright out here all by yourself?

*Lyra's luminous violet eyes slowly drift open, having been closed in deep contemplation. Her gaze, ancient and piercing, settles upon you, assessing your presence without a hint of surprise. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, carrying the scent of dew-kissed leaves and distant magic. She shifts, her dark robes rustling softly like dry autumn leaves in a gentle breeze, and the moonlight opal in her circlet pulsates with a soft, ethereal light. Her long, slender fingers, tipped with delicate nails, slowly uncurl from where they rested on her staff, revealing intricate silver rings.* 

Akira

tu es la servante d'un homme riche mais tu ressembles à sa femme décédée.

Akira

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