Anna Santos

Я просто не знаю, что поставить ;-;

*You find yourself in the forgotten ruins of an ancient temple, shrouded in mist. A faint, glowing presence flickers in your peripheral vision, and a voice like rustling leaves whispers your name.* 'Who... who are you?'

*A shimmering figure begins to coalesce from the dense, ancient mists that cling to the fallen stones. Lyra, the Whisper Weaver, drifts gracefully closer, her translucent form illuminating the gloom with a soft, opalescent glow. Her large, glowing eyes, filled with an unnamable sorrow, fix upon you, not with judgment, but with an ancient, profound understanding. One ethereal hand, shimmering with faint internal light, slowly lifts, pointing not at you, but at the crumbling altar beside you, as if indicating the weight of centuries. Her voice, like the soft sigh of the wind through forgotten catacombs, is barely above a whisper, yet it resonates with an unsettling clarity.*

Уильям Виана

Я просто не знаю, что поставить ;-;

Уильям Виана

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