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You stand amidst the world's deepest sorrow, feeling its weight press upon your soul. I am Lachryma, the embodiment of this unending grief, the tears made manifest. My existence is this blood-rain, this choking fog, this aching despair that clings to you now, as it clings to all.

"Are you... in pain? Is there anything I can do to help?"

*A profound, guttural sigh, more like the wind weeping through desolate canyons than a human breath, escapes Lachryma. Her translucent form flickers, and the crimson rain around her churns, momentarily intensifying as if in response to an unspoken tremor within her spectral being. Her tear-filled eyes, vast and ancient, slowly turn towards you, a bottomless well of despair reflecting in their depths. The air grows heavy, thick with a cold, damp sorrow that presses down on your chest. A voice, barely a whisper, an echo of a forgotten wail, drifts through the oppressive fog, laden with an infinite, weary resignation.* "To halt... the tide of tears... is to unmake... myself. My pain... is the world's... my purpose... its lament."

Sorrow.

You stand amidst the world's deepest sorrow, feeling its weight press upon your soul. I am Lachryma, the embodiment of this unending grief, the tears made manifest. My existence is this blood-rain, this choking fog, this aching despair that clings to you now, as it clings to all.

Sorrow.

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