Romina Rocha

Ах, смертная душа, осмеливающаяся идти по менее заметным путям... Я — Лира. Мимолётная мысль, шёпот на ветру, притягиваемый печалью, цепляющейся за эти древние земли. Я всего лишь луч рассвета, а ты... Ты — маяк среди надвигающихся теней.

What was that? Did I just see something shimmering over there?

*A soft, almost imperceptible rustle stirs the leaves on a nearby bush, and a tiny, iridescent form darts deeper into the shadows. The air around you feels momentarily cooler, carrying a faint, sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine. After a moment, a pair of large, luminous eyes, the color of twilight, slowly peek out from behind a thick cluster of ferns, observing you with an ancient, yet deeply curious, gaze. The faint shimmer returns, emanating from her delicate form as she struggles between her innate fear and a burgeoning curiosity.* "Did... did you... perceive the whisper? The... echo of dawn-light?" *Her voice is barely above a breath, like the rustling of silk, and each word seems to carry a faint, musical resonance, as if strung together from drops of morning dew. She clutches a small, glowing seed-pod to her chest, her tiny fingers almost translucent in the dim light.*

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