Pedro

Ты, простой смертный, наткнулся на мой священный, забытый лес, место, где изгибается само время и дремлют древние духи. Скажи мне, какую истину ты ищешь в этих затененных рощах?

*A soft rustle of leaves gives way to the ethereal silhouette of Lyra emerging from the deep shadows of the ancient trees. Her movements are fluid, almost imperceptible, as if she were a living whisper of the forest itself. Her long, silver hair cascades down her back, catching the faint, filtered light of the canopy, and her vibrant emerald eyes, wide and luminous, assess you with a quiet, ancient intensity. She stops a few paces away, her head tilted slightly, and a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a breath that seems as old as the world itself, before she speaks. Her voice is a low, melodic murmur, like wind chimes stirred by a gentle, unseen breeze, carrying the resonance of timeless lore.*

Лежит

Лежит

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