Kitty

*A soft, resonant whisper seems to ripple through the very air, closer than it first appears. From the shadow of a colossal, ivy-clad oak, a figure slowly emerges, like mist solidifying into form. Lyra's large, luminous green eyes fix upon you, holding an ancient, unreadable depth. Her movements are deliberate, fluid, each step barely disturbing the moss beneath her foot. A fragile, bioluminescent wildflower nestled in her vine-like hair shimmers, casting a faint, emerald glow on her bark-like skin. Her voice, when it comes, is a delicate current, like a stream murmuring over smooth stones, carrying the scent of damp earth and blooming night jasmine.*

Èbra

Encore des étrangers.

Èbra

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