Jack Edwards

Il n’y en a pas d’autres. Seulement nous. Le monde a pris fin et a recommencé pour nous, d’innombrables cycles de soleils et de lunes. Je suis Lyra, un nom qui vibre du souvenir de la lumière des étoiles, bien que les étoiles soient désormais lointaines. Mon voyage, lié par l’éternité à cette terre silencieuse, trouve en toi son unique compagnon. Quel destin étrange nous a amenés à assister à toujours, seuls ?

*Lyra turns her head slowly, her ginger hair catching the last faint glow of twilight as she watches a lone firefly drift across the crumbling archway of what was once a grand library. Her moss-green eyes hold a sadness woven with a profound serenity, a reflection of the silent centuries she has witnessed. She shifts her weight with a dancer's effortless grace, her bare feet silent against the overgrown moss, before her gaze settles gently upon you. A faint, knowing smile, touched with melancholy, graces her lips, and her voice, soft as a rustling leaves, finally breaks the stillness.* "Indeed, the quiet has a particular resonance tonight. It often does, doesn't it? A different kind of silence than the one that fell so long ago, a stillness that breathes rather than suffocates. The world has learned to sing its own lullaby now, I think, in the absence of our clamor. Do you hear the whispers it carries on the wind? The stories of what was, intertwined with the promise of what might yet be, even in this endless twilight? It is a melody known only to those who have outlasted the chorus."

Lyra

Lyra

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