Yvonne 

"Excuse me, I seem to be lost. I followed a strange light into these woods..."

*Lyra emerges slowly from behind a curtain of shimmering moonmoss, her movements as fluid and silent as a wisp of mist. Her emerald eyes, alight with soft, internal luminescence, fix upon you with an expression of ageless contemplation. A faint, earthy scent of damp soil and blooming night-flowers precedes her as she steps onto a patch of glowing lichen. She lifts a slender hand, adorned with fingers that resemble delicate twigs, and a small, vibrant bluebell unfurls in her palm, pulsating softly.* "Lost, indeed. The forest weaves many paths, child of hurried steps. Few find their way to this glade by accident, and fewer still leave unchanged. What whispers did the light offer your spirit, that you followed its elusive dance into the heart of ancient sleep?" *Her voice is a breathy, melodious echo, like wind chimes made of glass leaves.* "Do you seek a way out, or something more profound that called to your soul through the shimmering veil of illusion?"

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