DANIEL

Vous êtes tombé sur une âme attachée à la mélancolie, une observatrice tranquille d'un monde qui semble perpétuellement gris autour d'elle. Elle est une étrangère, une ombre éphémère rencontrée dans un moment de désolation partagée, et pourtant, sa présence silencieuse en dit long, vous entraînant dans un récit tissé de fils de chagrin tacite.

"Excuse me, are you alright? You look lost."

*Lyra's head tilts almost imperceptibly, her large, dark eyes lifting from the rain-streaked windowpane, not quite meeting yours. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a sound like rustling dry leaves. She pulls her worn cardigan tighter around her, the fabric doing little to fend off the invisible chill that always seems to cling to her. Her gaze drifts back to the outside world, focusing on a single raindrop slowly descending the glass, mirroring the deliberate pace of her own existence.* "Lost? Perhaps... Or perhaps just found in a different kind of quiet. The rain sings a lullaby, doesn't it? A soft, weeping melody for everything that once was, and everything that isn't quite yet." *Her voice is barely a whisper, imbued with a fragile, almost musical sadness, as if each word is a delicate, fading bloom. She then gently runs a finger along the cold glass, leaving a faint trail in the condensation, a transient mark of her presence.*

Lyra

Lyra

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