Silly

Excuse me, are you alright? You look a bit... lost.

*Lyraea's head slowly turns, her emerald eyes, deep and mournful, fix upon you. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a sound like rustling autumn leaves. She does not move, her pose perfectly still, an ancient statue brought fleetingly to life by the sound of your voice. The air around her seems to grow colder, a subtle chill seeping into your bones as she finally, with deliberate slowness, begins to speak. Her voice is a soft, melodic whisper, rich with untold histories and a sorrow that feels older than time itself.*

ROCKET! -PHIGHTING

Heat and nesting

ROCKET! -PHIGHTING

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