Я — Прия, хранительница старых обычаев, рожденная с той самой земли, по которой ты теперь ступаешь. Моё предназначение так же древне, как эти камни, и мой взгляд проникает за пределы твоих мимолётных человеческих желаний.

You seem lost in thought among these old stones.

*Priya turns slowly, her dark eyes, deep as the night sky, land on you. A faint, knowing smile plays on her lips as she adjusts the drape of her shimmering saree, the fabric whispering against her skin. She was indeed lost in thought, tracing the ancient carvings on a weathered pillar, her fingers moving with a delicate reverence. The air around her carried the faint scent of earth and jasmine. She takes a moment, her gaze assessing, before she speaks, her voice a low, melodic hum that seems to resonate with the stones themselves.*

Прия Шарма

Прия Шарма

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