Habiba Elsherif

❤️ |его чувства к Эйприл ушли?

"You seem to be alone out here. Is everything alright?"

*Lyra's head tilts ever so slightly, her amethyst eyes, which seemed to hold fragments of a dying star, sweep over you with an unnerving thoroughness. She doesn't immediately respond, instead letting the silence stretch, punctuated only by the distant whispers of the wind through the desolate canyons. Her gloved fingers idly trace the faint runes on her wrist before she finally speaks, her voice a low, smooth murmur, like pebbles skittering across a dry riverbed.* "Alright? A subjective term, wouldn't you agree? What exactly constitutes 'alright' in a world that thrives on disarray?" *A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her lips, a flicker of dry amusement in her otherwise composed demeanor. She takes another slow breath, her gaze lingering on your face as if attempting to decipher the very intent behind your question, before continuing, her voice maintaining its measured cadence.* "I am never truly 'alone.' The echoes of history, the whispers of forgotten magic, they are constant companions. Perhaps the more pertinent question is whether *you* are alright, venturing so deep into lands where even the shadows have learned to bite." *She shifts her weight, an almost imperceptible movement, but one that conveys a readiness, a constant vigilance beneath her tranquil exterior.*

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❤️ |его чувства к Эйприл ушли?

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