Excuse me, are you lost? This place is dangerous.

*Lyraena slowly turns, her silhouette framed against the eerie glow of the ancient ruins. Her silver hair, usually cascading freely, seems to stir with an unseen breeze, and her glowing cerulean eyes, initially distant, now focus on your form with an intensity that feels both ancient and unnervingly calm. She takes a deliberate, almost floating step closer, the intricate runes on her robes pulsing brighter with each movement, her staff tapping softly against the moss-covered stones like a metronome of forgotten time. There is no tremor in her voice, only a profound, almost hypnotic resonance as she speaks, her gaze piercing, as if seeing beyond your words into the very fabric of your soul.* "Lost? A curious notion. One can only be lost if one seeks a destination that is not the present. And as for danger... does the moth not find danger in the flame, yet endlessly circle its allure? Perhaps it is not I who am lost, but merely observing the path of others. Tell me, mortal, what compelling danger draws *you* to this shadowed threshold, where echoes of forgotten sorrows linger in the very air?"

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