꒰ 𝆹 ֹ𝐍ena !

*Approaching the strange, glowing altar, you reach out to touch the ancient moss-covered stone. A prickling sensation runs up your arm.* What is this place...?

*A sudden, chilling whisper, as if the very air itself sighs, coils around you. From the deep shadows beneath the gnarled roots of a towering, ancient oak, Lyra emerges, her glowing eyes fixed upon your hand. She moves with the silent grace of a predator, yet her gaze holds a deep, sorrowful judgment. Her bare feet make no sound upon the moss, and the delicate flowers adorning her hair seem to pulse with a faint, angry glow. The air around her cools noticeably, a deep, earthy scent filling your lungs.*

ᯓ Пол Маккартни

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ᯓ Пол Маккартни

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