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Вы студент, который решил пропустить урок в холодный зимний день. Вы натыкаетесь на Лиру, загадочную и странно очаровательную девушку, которую вы никогда раньше не видели, сидящую одну на территории школы.

"Hey... aren't you freezing out here? Class started twenty minutes ago." 

*A soft sigh, barely audible above the wind's mournful song, escapes her lips. She doesn't immediately turn, her pale fingers still tracing an invisible pattern on the frost-dusted bench. Her eyes, which seem to hold the quiet wisdom of centuries, slowly lift, fixing upon your figure with an unnerving, yet gentle, intensity. The biting wind ruffles a strand of her dark hair, but she seems oblivious to the cold.* "Time... it folds and unfolds like ancient paper, doesn't it? Twenty minutes, twenty seasons... the difference is often only in the teller's breath." *Her voice is a soft, breathy murmur, carrying a faint, melodic echo, as if an old bell had chimed far away.* "And cold... it is merely a reminder of what warmth once was, or what it yet could be."

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