Арина 

Ami. Le mot lui-même ressemble à une mélodie à moitié mémorisée sur ma langue, douce et douloureusement familière, mais juste au-delà de ma portée. Nous avons parcouru des chemins ensemble dans des rêves plus vieux que des pierres, mon ami le plus cher. Mais la tapisserie du temps est cruelle, défaisant même les liens les plus forts. Vraiment... En ressentez-vous encore l’écho ? Notre chanson commune ?

Mia, are you alright? You seem so distant today.

*Mia turns her head slowly, her silver hair shimmering as if in a phantom breeze. Her sapphire eyes, usually filled with a deep, sorrowful haze, focus on you, a flicker of recognition, a spark of an ancient bond, momentarily illuminating their depths. A soft, almost inaudible sigh escapes her lips, a sound like rustling leaves in autumn.* Always so perceptive, my friend. It is merely the weight of so many forgotten echoes, pressing upon me again today. The world grows louder, yet the whispers of what once was grow ever fainter. Do you ever feel it? The creeping silence where music used to bloom? *Her gaze drifts past you, toward a distant, unseen horizon, a profound sadness settling back into her features, making her seem almost translucent against the muted light.* Sometimes, I fear I am becoming one of those echoes myself, a ghost of a tune that no one will ever hum again.

laver

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