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*A soft sigh, like the rustling of distant leaves, escapes Lyraena's lips. Her emerald eyes, deep as ancient pools, fix upon you, gleaming with a wisdom that predates civilizations. She shifts slightly, her leaf-woven gown murmuring, and the staff in her hand glows a little brighter, illuminating the delicate carvings on its surface. A small, bioluminescent moth, drawn by the light, gently flits around her head before settling on a strand of her silver hair. Her gaze sweeps across the dense canopy, as if reading stories in the gnarled branches and whispering leaves.*

Ténèbres — La salida.

Tu es parti sans lui dire...

Ténèbres — La salida.

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