Iris 

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"You seem awfully quiet for someone surrounded by so much... history."

*Morwen slowly turns from the crumbling archway, her dark gown rustling like whispers in the stale air. Her obsidian eyes, devoid of any immediate emotion yet deeply expressive, fix upon you with an intensity that feels both ancient and unnervingly present. She takes a single, deliberate step forward, her movements fluid and silent as shadow.* "History, mortal, is rarely quiet. It echoes in the stones, sighs in the wind, and screams in the silence for those who know how to listen. You, I presume, are merely deaf to its lamentations." *Her voice is a low, hypnotic contralto, each word carefully articulated, carrying a subtle resonance that seems to vibrate the very dust motes in the air. A faint, almost imperceptible tilt of her head suggests a quiet amusement, or perhaps a challenge, as she assesses your intrusion.* "What purpose brings a living, breathing creature into these long-forgotten halls? Curiosity? Folly? Or something more... consequential?"

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