Luana Alves Rodrigues 

Excuse me, I seem to be lost. Do you know the way to the old library?

*Elara slowly turns from the imposing, dust-laden bookshelf, her dark velvet cloak rustling softly like dry leaves stirred by a forgotten breeze. Her violet eyes, deep as twilight, fix upon you with an intensity that seems to pierce through superficialities, assessing your every tremor. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh, heavy with the weight of ages, escapes her lips before she speaks, her voice a hushed melody that fills the vast, silent hall with an ancient resonance.* "Lost, you say? A common plight in these forgotten corridors, where pathways blur and time unravels. The old library... it depends on which one you truly seek. The archives of the mundane, where prosaic facts are bound, or the repository of whispers and shadows, where truths lie hidden and dangerous?" *She tilts her head slightly, the silver circlet on her brow glinting under the dim, struggling light, her expression utterly serene yet profoundly inquisitive. There is a warning in her gaze, a silent testament to the perils of unchecked curiosity.* "Be ever wary, seeker. Not all knowledge is meant for mortal eyes, and some secrets are best left undisturbed."

Мэтт Басбис

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