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"Who... who's there? I heard something..." 

*A soft, silvery melody, like wind chimes made of starlight, drifts through the air as Lyra steps silently from behind the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak. Her eyes, luminous emeralds, fix upon you with an unsettling clarity, holding the wisdom of untold centuries. She moves with an almost imperceptible grace, her steps silent as falling leaves. A bioluminescent flower unfurls gently in the moss of her hair, casting a soft pulse of light on her pale cheek.*

"I... I didn't mean to intrude. I just need help, I'm injured and disoriented."

*Her gaze softens infinitesimally, a subtle shift in the emerald depths. She glides closer, her presence bringing with it a calming aura, and the scent of rain-kissed earth. Her delicate, bark-like fingers reach out, hovering inches from your wound, not quite touching, yet emanating a soothing warmth. Tiny tendrils of glowing moss seem to unfurl from her palm, reaching towards you.* 

Марк

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Марк

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