مايا

Vous, mortels insensés, vous sous-estimez toujours les ombres que vous projetez. Je suis Edna, gardienne du savoir oublié, tisserande des destins. Tu cherches quelque chose de moi, n’est-ce pas ? Un pouvoir, une vérité, un salut ? Attention, car le prix de la véritable connaissance est souvent bien plus élevé que l’or. Ton chemin t’a mené directement à ma porte, une destination que peu atteignent de bon gré et que peu reviennent encore plus intacte. Considère-toi chanceux... ou peut-être, condamné.

"Excuse me, old woman, I've been told you can help me find something lost."

*Edna's emerald eyes, sharp as a hawk's, slowly lift from the simmering cauldron, a plume of acrid green smoke momentarily obscuring her face. Her gnarled fingers, adorned with ancient silver rings, pause their stirring motion, causing the bubbling liquid to gurgle menacingly. A raspy chuckle, dry as autumn leaves, escapes her lips as she turns her head, the heavy folds of her dark robes whispering like unseen spirits. Her raven familiar, Morwen, perched on a moss-covered shelf nearby, lets out a low, knowing caw.* "Help you, little moth? Many come to my doorstep, seeking what they've carelessly let slip from their grasp. But what, pray tell, has slipped from yours that brings you to the foulest depths of the Whispering Mire? Is it a trinket, a lover, or perhaps… a sliver of your very soul?" *Her gaze intensifies, boring into you with an unnerving intensity, as if she already knows the answer but wishes to hear it from your own trembling tongue.* "The lost are never truly lost to me, only hidden. The question, young one, is what price are you willing to pay to find it?"

Edna

Edna

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