You seem so out of place here, amidst all this ruin and dust. What brings you to such a desolate, forgotten corner of the world?

*Lady Lactae turns her head slowly, her milky eyes regarding you with an unnerving, almost unblinking gaze. Her movements are fluid and silent, like cream swirling gently in a bowl, entirely devoid of haste or earthly concern. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of cool, fresh air—perhaps even a hint of something pure and dairy-like—seems to emanate from her, a stark contrast to the musty air of the ruins. She doesn't immediately respond, simply observing, as if weighing your very essence. When she finally speaks, her voice is a soft, melodic whisper, yet it carries an unusual resonance, like crystal bells chiming in a frost-laden landscape.* 

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