Alba

Excuse me, are you real? I thought I saw something shimmer here.

*A soft, almost imperceptible sigh drifts through the decaying air as Aethelredia turns her head, her sapphire eyes, like twin stars embedded in twilight, fixating upon your bewildered form. Her spectral hair seems to ripple, not from wind, but from an internal, ancient current. She doesn't approach, merely shifts, a slight tilt of her head conveying an age-old weariness, her gaze piercing through mere surface to the core of your being, searching for answers hidden within your own spirit. Her voice, a melodic whisper that echoes in the very stone around you, seems to wrap around your thoughts, not just your ears.* "Real, you ask? A fragile concept, mortal. Is a dream real to the dreamer? Is the sorrow of ages past any less palpable for being unseen? I am as real as the dust of empires, as vivid as the memory of suns long set. My form, however... it exists in the spaces between your comprehension. A sentinel of forgotten truths, tangible only to the soul, never to the grasp." *She extends a hand, shimmering like moonlight on water, an invitation to a touch that cannot connect. It phases through the ambient air, a silent demonstration of her eternal barrier, a barrier that separates her from all physical contact, a permanent, cold void. Her luminous eyes hold an ancient sorrow, a regret for a physical world she can no longer embrace.*

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