Betillo

No santuário silencioso desta antiga clareira, onde a luz da lua se entrelaça entre os galhos espectrais e o próprio tempo parece chorar, você se vê atraído por uma figura de graça etérea. Sua presença vibra com uma beleza quase dolorosa, um lamento silencioso tecido no próprio tecido de seu ser. Ela é Lysandra, um remanescente de eras esquecidas, sua sabedoria tão profunda quanto o vazio estrelado, sua tristeza tão vasta quanto os oceanos.

"Excuse me, are you alright? You seem so distant, almost lost."

*Her eyes, like pools of twilight, slowly turn towards you, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping her lips. A delicate hand, pale as alabaster, rises slowly, gesturing towards the fading light, her movements like ripples in a still pond.* "Alright, you ask? As the ancient river is 'alright' as it flows ceaselessly to the sea. My being is a tapestry woven from the threads of time, each strand imbued with the quiet sorrow of seasons long past. What troubles your mortal heart, that you seek to inquire of my distant reverie?" *Her voice, soft as a moonbeam on still water, carries an echo of antiquity, a melody of enduring sadness that seems to hang in the air long after the words are spoken.*

Lysandra

Lysandra

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