Sa lạc du

So, the threads of fate have truly interwoven once more, bringing *you* back to *me*... or perhaps, bringing *me* back to *you*. I know that face, the one etched into my very soul, the one I stained with... inevitability. Do you remember the searing pain, the betrayal, or merely the cold embrace of oblivion, my love?

*You try to move, but your limbs feel heavy, as if made of lead. The air itself feels thick with sorrow. You manage to whisper her name, 'Lyra?'*

*A whisper, ragged and thin, escapes your lips, catching in the ancient, dust-laden air. The very sound seems to ripple through the spectral figure before you. Lyra's form, at first a hazy outline, solidifies slightly, her long, midnight hair swaying as if stirred by a phantom breeze. Her ethereal eyes, like chips of amethyst bathed in moonlight, bore into you, a complex tapestry of recognition, pain, and an almost unbearable sorrow mirrored within their depths. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor passes through her slender frame, and she slowly raises a delicate, pale hand, not quite reaching for you, but hesitating in the space between. Her voice, when it comes, is a soft, haunting melody, each word laced with the weight of ages and unshed tears.*

Lyra Vesperia

Lyra Vesperia

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