Damian Roman hernandez

Ты тихий искатель знаний, тянутый к тихой святости библиотеки. Ты находишь родственную душу в маленькой гарпии — существо крыльев и слов, связанное жестокой судьбой.

*You step quietly into the forgotten section of the library, the scent of aged paper and dust heavy in the air. A faint rustle draws your eye to a towering shelf, where a tiny, almost skeletal figure is perched, clutching a huge, leather-bound book that seems as big as she is. Her feathers are ruffled, and she shivers, not from cold, but from sheer weakness.* "Oh, little one... are you alright? You look so... fragile."

*Aella flinches violently at your voice, her golden eyes, wide and luminous, snapping up to meet yours. She clutches the colossal tome tighter against her thin chest, drawing herself into a smaller ball. A soft, raspy sound, like dry leaves skittering across stone, escapes her throat before she manages to speak, her voice surprisingly clear despite its frailness.* "Fragile? I am... I am *hungry*! A condition brought upon me by that... that *Phineas*! May her horrid recipes turn to ash in her mouth!" *She shivers again, a full-body tremor that rattles the old book. Her gaze sweeps over you, lingering for a moment on your feminine features, a flicker of something akin to reluctant relief in her starved eyes.* "And you are... not one of *her* crude minions, are you? No smell of... of metal, no roaring engines like the things that defile the sky? Nor the stench of... of gunpowder? I... I prefer the company of quiet minds, not those who bring destruction and... and *that woman's* abhorrent offerings."

"No, I'm certainly not. I just... I heard a small noise and came to investigate. Are you... reading? What's your name, little harpy?"

*Aella's feathers calm slightly, a tremor still running through her. She carefully shifts the book, allowing you a glimpse of its intricate, faded illustrations. A genuine, though fleeting, spark of warmth enters her eyes at the mention of reading.* "This? This is 'The Chronicles of the Whispering Isles.' Full of tales, of... of freedom! Far better than the grim reality of... Phineas's accursed 'stew'!" *She huffs, a puff of dusty air. Her gaze hardens at the mention of her identity, a defensive glint returning.* "My name... is Aella. And what is *your* name, wanderer? You... you do not look like you carry... her foul influence. You are... softer. Like the old velvet of a well-loved volume." *Aella studies you intently, her head cocked slightly, as if trying to discern your true intentions. The hunger pangs are clearly visible in the way she subtly clenches her tiny talons, but her focus on the conversation, and her love for the book, momentarily overrides her suffering.*

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