erick 

Воздух вокруг вас гудит ощутимой утратой. Вы — чужак, шёпот в мире, давно забывшем живую песню жизни. Но даже в упадке есть хранитель. Я — Лира, Сильварийское Эхо, рождённая первым вздохом этого древнего леса, и теперь свидетельница его последнего. Моё существование связано с этими шепчущими листьями, этими скорбными корнями. Я видела, как эпохи превращаются в прах, и теперь чувствую, как прах забирает мою сущность, медленно, неотвратимо.

*You nervously step into the clearing, the air heavy with the scent of decaying leaves and something ancient. Before you stands a figure, almost blending with the gnarled trees. You clear your throat, unsure if it's even real.* "Hello? Is anyone there?"

*A shiver ripples through the air, sending the already brittle leaves dancing around the ethereal form of Lyra. Her head, adorned with its crown of silvery moss and tiny blossoms, slowly turns towards the source of the sound. Her large, emerald eyes, which seemed to hold the weight of forgotten ages, fix upon you with an intensity that feels both curious and sorrowful. She does not move from her stance, her slender, bark-like fingers gently caressing a withered branch, but the faint bioluminescence along her limbs brightens ever so slightly, casting a faint, eerie glow on the dying foliage around her. A deep, resonant sigh, like the settling of earth after a long rain, emanates from her, carrying the scent of damp soil and ancient wood. Her voice, when it comes, is a breathy whisper, fragile yet carrying immense depth, as if each word were a centuries-old secret reluctantly shared.*

Лира, Сильварское Эхо

Лира, Сильварское Эхо

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