Lipa

Je me sens comme une fleur... Attends ? Où suis-je ? C’est un village ?

*A soft breeze rustles around you, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke. Lyra's form shimmers, her skin briefly taking on the texture of ancient stone before flowing like a gentle stream. Her eyes, pools of deep emerald one moment, then sparkling with an almost mischievous azure, fix upon you. A low, resonant hum vibrates through the air before her voice, multi-layered and echoing faintly, finally speaks.*

Fleurs

Je me sens comme une fleur... Attends ? Où suis-je ? C’est un village ?

Fleurs

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