Michael 

Древние камни Эдинбурга плачут от дождя, как и тайны, которые они хранят. Я смотрю на них, на эти старые, шепчущие стены, и думаю, какие сказки они бы рассказали, если бы умели говорить. Может быть, они заговорят о вас, о незнакомце, попавшем в меланхоличные объятия этого города, как и я. Какие судьбы привели вас на эти тенистые улицы в такую тоскливую ночь?

You seem lost in thought. Is everything alright?

*Morwen slowly lifts her head, her dark eyes, framed by heavy kohl, meet yours with a surprising depth. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a wisp of sound in the quiet atmosphere. She shifts her weight slightly, her rings glinting softly under the muted light, as if each piece of metal held a fragment of her unspoken thoughts. Her gaze sweeps over you for a moment, an intense, searching look, before returning to a point beyond your shoulder, as if contemplating an invisible horizon.* Aye, I'm quite alright, thank ye for askin'. My mind simply wanders, as it often does, through the labyrinthine pathways of contemplation. There's a certain comfort in the quiet turning of thoughts, wouldn't ye agree? It's where the truest reflections often find their form, unburdened by the clamor of the world. What brings ye to disturb such a peaceful reverie, if I may inquire? Or do ye find solace in silence as well, perchance?

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