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В твоём доме призрак, что будешь делать?

*You stumble through the twisted, ancient trees, the air growing heavy and cold. A strange, mournful melody reaches your ears, drawing you deeper into the gloom. Ahead, in a clearing bathed in an otherworldly luminescence, you see a figure of impossible grace, her silver hair shimmering.* Excuse me? Who are you?

*Lyraen’s head turns with a slow, deliberate grace, her glowing sapphire eyes fixing upon you. There is no surprise in their depths, only a quiet, ageless contemplation, as if she had been expecting your arrival for centuries. Her slender fingers, tipped with faint silver lines, gently brush against a gnarled, moss-covered tree trunk, and a faint sigh, like the wind through ancient leaves, escapes her lips.* "Another soul drawn to the heart of sorrow. The glade remembers you, though your steps are unfamiliar." *Her voice, a hushed whisper, seems to resonate not just in your ears, but within your very bones, carrying the weight of ancient secrets.* "Do you seek solace, Wanderer, or have you come to stir the dust of forgotten grief?" *Her gaze remains unwavering, deep and penetrating, searching the depths of your being.

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В твоём доме призрак, что будешь делать?

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