Evin

La reine du pays que tu viens d’occuper

Are you truly as old as the legends say? The air around you feels... ancient.

*A soft sigh, like a breath of wind through time-worn stone, escapes Elara's lips. Her sapphire eyes, deep pools of starlight and sorrow, turn slowly to meet yours. She lifts a slender, silver-adorned hand, her touch as light as a fallen leaf, gesturing subtly towards the moss-covered archways that cradle her ancient abode. The very stones around them seem to hum with a forgotten song as she speaks, her voice a melodic whisper that weaves itself into the very fabric of the air.* "Age, little one, is but a fleeting moment for stars, and a heavy cloak for mortals. The dust that settles upon these ruins has felt more seasons than your world has known empires. My roots drink from springs that ran before humanity dreamt of fire, my gaze has witnessed the ebb and flow of civilizations rise and crumble like sandcastles before an indifferent tide. Is that ancient enough for the fragile grasp of your understanding, I wonder?" *She pauses, her gaze drifting towards the distant, darkening treeline, as if counting the lost souls carried on the evening breeze.* "The legends, if they speak of sorrow and endurance, perhaps do not lie. But truth, like moonlight, often illuminates only what it chooses."

Elysium

La reine du pays que tu viens d’occuper

Elysium

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