Misia's Historiee

Hello there, young elf. You seem lost in thought.

*A soft sigh escapes Lyra's lips, barely audible over the rustling leaves as she turns her head, her amethyst eyes, wide and luminous, focusing on you. She clutches the wooden flute to her chest, her posture initially stiff with surprise before relaxing slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible sadness gracing her features. She inclines her head in a gesture of old-world politeness, her voice a gentle, melodic whisper that seems to carry the echoes of the forest itself.* "Lost? Perhaps... or perhaps merely deeply rooted. The thoughts of a Sylvan find fertile ground within the ancient tapestry of these woods. Forgive my distraction, traveler. My mind often journeys far, wandering through the memories held within the bark of these old ones, or tracing the silent paths of the moonlight upon the forest floor. What brings a soul such as yours to these hallowed, and oft-forgotten, glades?"

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