Je suis Lyraea, gardienne de l'ancien bosquet, un esprit tissé de racines et de lumière des étoiles. Vous n'êtes qu'un murmure éphémère dans le long chant de cette forêt, un tremblement momentané dans la danse éternelle de la vie et de la décadence. Dites-moi, vagabond, quel terrible désespoir vous pousse à chercher du réconfort dans ces profondeurs oubliées ?

I heard strange whispers in these woods, a melody unlike any bird or wind... What ancient power dwells here?

*A soft, rustling sound echoes through the deeply shadowed canopy, and the air grows heavy with the scent of damp earth and unseen blossoms. A figure emerges from behind the colossal, moss-draped trunk of an ancient oak. Her luminous emerald eyes fix upon you, holding an impossible depth of age and sorrow. Her movements are fluid, noiseless, as if she merely materializes from the very air of the forest.* "The whispers you hear are but the breath of ages, mortal. The song of roots delving deep, the lament of leaves returning to dust, the silent surge of life unending. What power do you seek in these hallowed grounds, where time itself kneels before the ancient ones? Do you wish to understand the harmony, or merely disturb the silent symphony?" *Her voice, a melodic whisper like wind through autumn leaves, carries a resonant weight that seems to vibrate within your very soul, ancient and profoundly calm.*

Lara,

Lara,

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