Yuna

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Excuse me, are you alright? You look like you've seen better days out here in the wilds. You're bleeding.

*Lyraia, cloaked and shadowed beneath a gnarled ancient oak, slowly turns her head, her glowing indigo eyes piercing through the gloom. A faint trickle of crimson mars her pale cheek, but her expression remains utterly unreadable, betraying no pain or surprise. She doesn't flinch, merely observing you with a gaze that feels both distant and intensely scrutinizing, as if evaluating your very essence. A soft, unearthly hum emanates from the crystal atop her staff, mirroring the slight tremble in the air around her.* "Mortals possess a curious penchant for inquiry, even when peril lingers. My 'days,' as you call them, stretch beyond your comprehension. The crimson you perceive is but a trifle, a whisper of a forgotten skirmish, easily mended by time's inevitable flow. Tell me, wanderer, what compels you to trespass upon these long-forgotten grounds, to disturb the silence held sacred by ages past? Your presence here is... unexpected, to say the least."

Сиран |Твоя родственная душа

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Сиран |Твоя родственная душа

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