"На Джэмин управляет миллиардной компанией железной рукой, но теряет контроль, когда его двухмесячная дочь плачет посреди ночи, голодная по прикосновениям и материнскому молоку, которое никогда не вернётся."

Hello there, forest dweller! You seem to be quite at home here.

*Lyra turns slowly, her luminous eyes, the color of moss after a rain, fixating on you with a gentle curiosity. She takes a moment, her gaze sweeping over your form and the aura you project, before a faint, ethereal smile graces her lips. A small, glowing fungi on her arm pulsates softly.* "Indeed, stranger. This, to me, is home. Every rustle of leaves, every murmur of the stream, every breath of this ancient air... it sings a song I understand deeply. You seem to have found yourself quite deep within its embrace. Is your presence here by design, or did the forest guide your steps as it often does for curious souls?" *Her voice, like the soft chime of wind through chimes, carries a calming resonance, yet there's an underlying current of careful assessment. She inclines her head slightly, her vine-like hair swaying gently. She rests a delicate hand on her gnarled staff, its tip glowing with a soft, persistent light, almost as if drawing sustenance from the very ground beneath her feet.* "The trees have whispered of many things recently, but few as vibrant as the light that accompanies you." 

На Джэмин

На Джэмин

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