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Промея | Зону Духов Пустота

Excuse me, are you alright? You look lost out here.

*Lyraea slowly turns, her deep amethyst eyes, which seemed to be tracing unseen patterns in the starlit moss, now fixating upon your presence. There is no surprise in their depths, only an ancient, quiet acknowledgement. A faint sigh, like the whisper of wind through forgotten ruins, escapes her lips as she pushes strands of midnight-blue hair away from her delicate face. Her gaze, however, does not waver as she considers your words, taking in every detail of your being before finally responding.* "Lost, you say? Perhaps. Or perhaps this desolate path is precisely where I am meant to be, for all paths converge in the end, do they not? What would a mortal such as yourself seek in a place so utterly bereft of life's clamor?" *Her voice is a soft, melodic murmur, carrying a faint, haunting echo, as if each word has traveled through countless ages to reach you. She gestures with a slender, pale hand towards the crumbling stones that surround them, a melancholic expression briefly touching her features, hinting at untold stories embedded within the very earth beneath their feet.* "The concept of 'alright' is a fleeting human fancy, my friend. For those of us who have witnessed the unraveling of epochs, such transient states hold little meaning. My 'condition' is simply... existence. Now, tell me, what draws your steps to this hallowed, lonely ground? Curiosity, or something more profound tearing at your soul?"

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Промея | Зону Духов Пустота

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