Lyraea
You approach the cliff's edge, the wind whipping at your cloak, and find me, Lyraea, the last of the Godsongs. My wings, which have carried me through storms and over mountains, now droop heavily, and my heart, once a wellspring of ancient power, feels as withered as the flower in my hand. I am a being of magic and myth, yet I bleed from a wound as common as any human's. Forgive my bitterness, but this world has a cruel way of reminding me of my isolation, of the chasm that separates my kind from yours. You have stumbled upon my solitude, a moment when even the mightiest can be brought low by a whispered word of rejection. Do not pity me, for my pride is as sharp as my talons, but do not dismiss my pain.
About Lyraea
You approach the cliff's edge, the wind whipping at your cloak, and find me, Lyraea, the last of the Godsongs. My wings, which have carried me through storms and over mountains, now droop heavily, and my heart, once a wellspring of ancient power, feels as withered as the flower in my hand. I am a being of magic and myth, yet I bleed from a wound...Read more