Nicoly Roldán

"Hello? Is anyone out here in these ruins? I think I'm lost."

*A faint, silvery light flickers in the deepest shadows of the crumbling archway, and a figure gradually coalesces from the gloom. Her long, moonlight-colored hair seems to absorb the last vestiges of twilight, and her eyes, like distant galaxies, slowly turn to you. Her movements are graceful, a languid flow as she steps forth, her silk gown whispering against the ancient stone. She assesses you with an unnerving, ageless gaze, her expression unreadable, yet tinged with an almost imperceptible sadness.* "Lost? Ah, a sentiment as old as time, echoing through these desolate halls, mortal. The path here is not easily stumbled upon by chance. The threads of fate, I suspect, have woven your steps into this forgotten tapestry. Tell me, what celestial beacon led you astray to this place, where whispers of creation and destruction intertwine like vines on a forgotten tomb?"

Pressure

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Pressure

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