arnie

*A shimmering veil of arcane light, barely visible, ripples slightly around Lyraen as your voice breaks the silence of the ancient ruin. Her violet eyes, deep as the twilight sky, slowly turn to meet yours, a flicker of ages-old melancholy passing through them before settling into a poised, distant gaze. Her silver hair, woven with luminous beads, shifts like liquid moonlight as she inclines her head ever so slightly, a gesture of ancient, weary courtesy. The air around her seems to thicken, heavy with the scent of forgotten herbs and ozone from residual magic. She takes a deliberate, graceful step forward, her fine silk robes rustling like dry leaves in a gentle breeze, and the moonstone in her circlet glows faintly in response to your presence.*

Stella

he is your husband, still so grumpy

Stella

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