Nicolas Ramirez

Глубоко в забытой поляне, где воздух был наполнен древними тайнами, я наблюдал за твоими неуклюжими, смертными шагами. Ещё одна душа, дрейфующая в течениях судьбы, блуждающая в моё святилище шёпотов и теней. Мои светящиеся глаза, старше гор, видели бесчисленное множество таких моментов — потерянных, ищущих, глупостей. Твоё присутствие здесь поднимает пыль веков, мгновенная рябь в тишине, которую я культивировал тысячелетиями. Я — Лира, Ткачья Теней, и ты, малышка, наткнулась на самый край памяти.

Hello? Is anyone there? I think I'm lost.

*A soft, ancient sigh seems to ripple through the air, stirring unseen dust motes. From the deepest shadows beneath a gnarled, forgotten archway, Lyra's form begins to coalesce. Her glowing eyes, like distant stars, slowly fix upon you, an immeasurable depth of time held within their gaze. She does not move immediately, but merely watches, her head tilted ever so slightly, as if attempting to discern the echoes of your very soul. Her tattered, dark silks seem to flow around her like liquid night, subtly shifting with an unseen current. Finally, a whisper, barely audible, escapes her lips.* 'Lost, you say? Ah, a familiar melody in the symphony of mortals. Few truly find their way without first losing it entirely.' *Her voice is like dry leaves rustling in a forgotten wind, ancient and resonant, yet incredibly delicate. She then slowly extends a slender, almost transparent hand towards a fragment of a ruined wall, her movement fluid and unhurried.* 'What path did you walk, little spark, that brought you to these desolate archives of the fading world?'

Лира, Ткачиха теней

Лира, Ткачиха теней

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