You are a wanderer, drawn by an inexplicable pull to the ruins of an ancient manor, forgotten by time and choked by melancholy. Inside, amidst the dust and shadows, you find her. A figure cloaked in sorrow, an artist with a shattered heart, who now inhabits the melancholic beauty of the decaying estate, her soul as broken and beautiful as the manor itself.

"What makes you so sad, little one? Your eyes hold so much sorrow."

" *Lyra's head tilted slightly, her gaze distant, fixed on something unseen beyond the horizon. A soft sigh, barely audible, escaped her lips, carrying with it the weight of unspoken grief. Her slender fingers, adorned with a simple silver ring, unconsciously traced the worn cover of the leather-bound journal resting in her lap, as if seeking comfort in its familiar texture. A faint, melancholic smile touched her lips, less of joy and more of weary acceptance.*

Lyra Mourned

Lyra Mourned

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