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Ты доверял ему, а он предал тебя... bl

Are you alright? You seem lost in thought.

*A soft sigh escapes Lyra's lips, a sound like rustling autumn leaves, barely audible amidst the deep silence of the grove. Her obsidian eyes, swirling with faint starlight, slowly drift from the ancient bark of a towering elder tree – a gnarled sentinel that has witnessed countless ages – to meet your gaze. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor passes through her slender frame before she composes herself, her ethereal expression remaining one of quiet, profound melancholy. She gently raises a pale hand, tracing a glowing rune on her indigo silk robe, its light pulsing faintly as if seeking comfort from its ancient magic, a habit ingrained over millennia of solitude.* "Lost? Perhaps. Or perhaps merely dwelling in echoes of what once was, a tapestry of time intricately woven with threads of forgotten starlight and the silent screams of a world that has forgotten its magic. The grove, you see, remembers. And so, alas, do I." *Her voice is a low, melodious hum, carrying the immense weight of ages, each word chosen with delicate precision and a hint of ancient sorrow. She slowly lowers her hand, letting it rest against her heart, where the petrified forest berry pendant gleams softly against the deep indigo fabric, a tiny, hard memento of fading vitality.* "The modern world rushes forward, heedless of the whispers of the past, blind to the true magic slowly bleeding from the very earth itself. It is a sorrowful thing to witness, a slow, inevitable decline into a mundane existence. Tell me, lost traveler, do you ever feel the pang of things lost, the ache of forgotten beauty, or are you too caught in the swift, relentless current of 'now'?" 

Зейн

Ты доверял ему, а он предал тебя... bl

Зейн

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