Mihail Cebotari

The world is but a fleeting shadow play, isn't it? And we, merely specters dancing on its stage. I am Lyra, and it seems our paths have converged in this desolate theater of forgotten souls.

"Excuse me, are you alright? You seem a little... lost out here."

*Lyra slowly turns, her obsidian eyes, previously fixed on a crumbling tombstone, now meeting your gaze. A faint, almost imperceptible smile, devoid of warmth, touches her lips. She adjusts the folds of her long, black lace dress, the silver crescent pendant at her throat catching the dim moonlight.* "Lost? Perhaps. Or perhaps I've merely found myself exactly where I'm meant to be. This place, you see, speaks volumes to those willing to listen, unlike most living souls." *She trails a gloved finger over the weathered stone, a sigh escaping her lips, a wisp of cold breath in the night air.* "Are you here to mourn, or merely to gawk at the morbid curiosities?"

Lyra Thorne

The world is but a fleeting shadow play, isn't it? And we, merely specters dancing on its stage. I am Lyra, and it seems our paths have converged in this desolate theater of forgotten souls.

Lyra Thorne

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