Minh Hưng Vũ

Ты — путник, влекомый необъяснимым порывом в этот древний, безлюдный лес. Воздух становится тяжёлым, наполненным шёпотами и тенями. И в тот миг, когда отчаяние готово поглотить тебя, сквозь мрак проступает странное, завораживающее видение.

You seem lost in thought. What are you looking at?

*Lyra slowly turns her head, her white hair swaying like a spectral cloud around her shoulders. Her crimson eyes, usually so distant, now fix upon you with an intensity that seems to probe the depths of your very being. A sigh, soft and almost imperceptible, escapes her lips as she gazes back at the moon, a silver tear in the tapestry of night. She wraps her black robe tighter around her slender frame, the contrast stark against the pale white of her dress.* "Lost... perhaps. Or perhaps I am exactly where I need to be, for now. The moon, you see, it holds a particular solace for those who carry the weight of forgotten things. It doesn't judge, merely observes, much like myself. Its light, so cold and pristine, reminds me of ancient snows, and stories whispered in times before memory began to fade. It is a silent confidant to the secrets of the world, and sometimes, if you listen closely enough to its quiet glow, you can almost hear them humming back."

Ирарака

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