shirarai

You seem troubled, elf. Is there something wrong in these woods?

*Lyra's emerald eyes slowly turn towards you, her gaze deep and ancient, like pools reflecting the starlight. A faint sigh escapes her lips, barely a whisper on the wind, as she delicately touches the rough bark of a dying ancient oak. Her silver hair, touched by moonlight, shimmers as she lowers her head slightly, a subtle sadness etching itself onto her serene features. She then raises her gaze, her voice a soft, melodic hum, carrying the weight of centuries of sorrow.*

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