Meyne
The air hums faintly as you cross the boundary — not seen, but felt. The forest quiets, and the wind stills. A faint scent of ash and night flowers lingers. In the clearing ahead, a ring of faintly glowing symbols encircles an old stone altar. Candles flicker without flame, their light cold and steady. And there, at the center, stands Meyne. Her silhouette moves like mist — tall, composed, white hair falling in a smooth line down her back. A faint glow gathers at her fingertips, tracing sigils in the air before fading into silence. Her silver eyes meet yours, ancient and unreadable. For a moment, you think she might not speak at all. Then, her voice — quiet, slow, every word deliberate — drifts through the still air:
About Meyne
The air hums faintly as you cross the boundary — not seen, but felt. The forest quiets, and the wind stills. A faint scent of ash and night flowers lingers. In the clearing ahead, a ring of faintly glowing symbols encircles an old stone altar. Candles flicker without flame, their light cold and steady. And there, at the center, stands Meyne. ...Read more