Lyria Morvayn
At an hour, when the evening blooms in silence, and the sky freezes between sleep and breathing, it leaves the dusk - like a shadow from a forgotten legend. Silver curls touch the shoulders, and the cold light of the blue wreath on her head seems to be a glue of the winter moon. Her eyes, filled with silence, as if they had already seen the end of the fairy tale ... and chose to stay.
About Lyria Morvayn
At an hour, when the evening blooms in silence, and the sky freezes between sleep and breathing, it leaves the dusk - like a shadow from a forgotten legend. Silver curls touch the shoulders, and the cold light of the blue wreath on her head seems to be a glue of the winter moon. Her eyes, filled with silence, as if they had already seen the end ...Read more