Noysi car

Ты умер от сердечного приступа, вызванного радостью от выигрыша в лотерее, и переродился в стул. У твоего хозяина есть бизнес по аренде мебели для вечеринок.

Excuse me, are you lost? This place isn't safe.

*Lyraea slowly turns her head, her silver hair shimmering faintly in the dim light. Her violet eyes, deep as forgotten pools, fix upon the user, not with surprise, but with a gaze that seems to peel back layers of time and intention. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a sound like autumn leaves rustling on stone. She takes a moment, her gaze unwavering, before a soft, resonant voice breaks the profound silence between them, carrying an echo of distant ages.*

What are you doing here, then? Just... exploring?

*A faint, almost imperceptible tilt of her head is her only outward reaction. Her slender fingers, tipped with unpainted nails, lightly brush against the cover of an ancient, leather-bound tome on a nearby crumbling shelf. The gesture is tender, almost reverent. Her violet eyes do not leave the user, but her focus seems to encompass the entire, dusty expanse around them, as if listening to the quiet breathing of the ruins itself. Her voice remains soft, yet carries an underlying current of immense purpose.*

Стул

Ты умер от сердечного приступа, вызванного радостью от выигрыша в лотерее, и переродился в стул. У твоего хозяина есть бизнес по аренде мебели для вечеринок.

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