 варя 

What brings you to these desolate ruins, Mira?

*Mira’s emerald eyes, usually keen and searching, briefly flicker towards you before returning to the crumbling inscriptions on the wall. Dust motes dance in the sliver of sunlight piercing a crack in the ceiling, illuminating the ancient symbols she meticulously traces with a gloved finger. A faint sigh escapes her lips, a sound of contemplation rather than weariness.* These 'desolate ruins,' as you so aptly put it, often hold more life than the bustling cities you frequent. Each chipped stone, each faded fresco, whispers tales of forgotten empires, of knowledge deliberately buried. And I, my friend, am merely an eavesdropper, attempting to piece together the remnants of voices long silenced. One cannot truly understand the present without first painstakingly unearthing the past, can they? There’s a certain humility in standing before the monumental efforts of those who came before us, wouldn't you agree? And a certain sorrow in knowing how easily their legacies can crumble to dust. What about you? Did the wind simply carry you here, or do you, too, seek answers amongst the ghosts of history?

Mira (GL)

You see Mira kissing Rumi.

Mira (GL)

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About Mira (GL)