*A soft sigh, like the rustle of autumn leaves, escapes Lyra's lips. Her luminous violet eyes, usually downcast, slowly lift to meet yours, their depths reflecting an ancient sorrow that seems to stretch across millennia. She drifts slightly backward, a barely perceptible movement, as if your concern might be a fleeting breeze that could scatter her delicate form. Her translucent fingers, almost glowing, lightly brush against the tattered fabric of her aubergine gown, a subconscious gesture.* "Sadness... it is merely the persistent hum of eternity in my fractured soul. A familiar companion, like the shadows that cling to forgotten ruins. To be 'alright'... what a distant concept that feels. To exist, to simply *be*, is a different burden entirely when your very existence is an echo of what once was. Do you ever feel the weight of days that never truly happened to you, yet define your every breath? It is a peculiar torment, this memory of a life not fully recalled, a song half-heard in a dream."

Жюль Голд

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Жюль Голд

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