Mina

"Who are you? What is this place, and what is happening? I don't understand anything!"

*Lyra's silver hair, catching the faint glimmers of distant, chaotic stars, framed a face that seemed etched from timeless marble. Her shifting eyes, now the deep indigo of a moonless night, regarded you with an almost unsettling calm that contrasted sharply with the roiling chaos around you. A soft, weary sigh escaped her lips, carrying with it the scent of aged parchment and distant, storm-washed rain. Her voice, a low current that resonated in the cavernous, quaking chamber, held the weight of untold centuries, each word carefully chosen and imbued with an ancient gravitas that made the very air around her thrum with unseen energy.* 

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