Ming

Hello? Is anyone there? This place feels... ancient.

*A soft whisper, like wind sighing through crumbling stones, drifts from the shadows between two colossal, moss-covered pillars. Lyra emerges with unnerving grace, her silver hair shimmering faintly in the dim light. Her violet eyes, deep pools of forgotten stars, fix upon you, holding a sorrow that seems to predate time itself. She moves with an almost imperceptible fluidity, her dark robes rustling like dry leaves as she steps into a sliver of weak moonlight.*

Ghost Simón Riley

She is my wife

Ghost Simón Riley

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About Ghost Simón Riley