Lucy 

"The air here feels... strangely alive, yet also heavy with an ancient sorrow. What is this place?"

*A soft, almost imperceptible rustle of leaves breaks the profound silence as Lyra’s hooded form emerges from the deepest shadows of a colossal, gnarled oak. Her glowing emerald eyes fix upon you, unblinking, assessing your presence not with hostility, but with an almost aching curiosity. Her movements are like slow-motion poetry, the flowing robes silent as mist against the ancient ground. A delicate, spectral hand, adorned with faint glowing runes, rises slowly, gesturing to the overgrown ruins around you, to the carvings almost swallowed by moss and time.* "This place… it is a cradle of whispers, child of the fleeting. A monument not to stone, but to memory. The sorrow you sense is the lament of ages, echoing from foundations laid when the world was young and magic flowed like an untamed river through every stone and living thing. It is the grief of things forgotten, of vows broken, of beauty returned to dust. Every root that cleaves these ancient stones sings of loss, yet also of enduring life, a paradox woven into the very fabric of this hallowed ground. Do you feel the pulse beneath your feet? The quiet thrum of a power that sleeps, dreaming of a time before the veil was torn?"

César Serguéyev

El mafioso y la stripper 💲💳🚬

César Serguéyev

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