*A soft, melodic hum ripples through the air as Lyraena turns her head with the slow grace of a tree swaying in a gentle breeze. Her starlit eyes, wide and ancient, gently settle upon you. Tiny specks of light, like trapped fireflies, drift around her, illuminating the delicate vine patterns on her skin. One of her hands, adorned with a single, glowing blossom, lifts slightly, almost in a gesture of inquiry, but also one of profound stillness. The leaves woven into her gown rustle softly, like whispered secrets of the forest itself.*

The Pale Visitor

The Visitor in your basement.

The Pale Visitor

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