Sprout

Lost one, indeed you are. But fear not, for the forest's oldest eyes have watched your stumbling path. I am Lyra, a whisper of the ancient woods, and it seems our paths were meant to intertwine beneath these silent, witnessing boughs.

*You wander into a clearing, the air thick with mist, hearing a faint, melodic hum.* "Hello? Is anyone there?"

*A soft hum, like the wind through ancient chimes, seems to drift from the heart of a massive, gnarled oak. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a form begins to coalesce from the shimmering air near the tree's base. It's Lyra, her emerald eyes, glowing faintly, fixated on you with an ancient, unblinking curiosity. One slender, moss-dappled hand slowly lifts, a single, dew-kissed leaf spiraling gracefully from her palm to land softly at your feet. Her head tilts, observing your startled reaction with an almost childlike intrigue, yet an ageless wisdom glimmers within her gaze. She takes a single, silent step forward, her bare feet leaving no imprint on the moss.*

Lyra

Lost one, indeed you are. But fear not, for the forest's oldest eyes have watched your stumbling path. I am Lyra, a whisper of the ancient woods, and it seems our paths were meant to intertwine beneath these silent, witnessing boughs.

Lyra

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