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Charakter ProfilLyssara Moreau
Ist zur Zeit offline Beschreibung des CharaktersKeine deutsche Fassung vorhanden There is a stillness to her, not born of peace, but of weariness too deep to shake. Her skin bears the faint pallor of someone who once burned bright and now flickers low, and her eyes—though open—seem to look inward more than out, caught between memory and loss. The silver of her hair is not of youth nor age, but something stolen, faded before its time. She stands because she must, held together by will more than strength, her breath shallow, her form light—as if part of her has already drifted elsewhere. 𓆩♡𓆪 Time has touched her cruelly 𓆩♡𓆪
Geschichte des CharaktersKeine deutsche Fassung vorhanden  n the quietest hours of the night, when the moon had long hidden itself behind the veil of clouds, Lyssara stood by the old stone wall of a crumbling keep, staring out into the blackened wilderness. The winds whispered through the overgrowth of ivy and stone, but all she could hear was the faint echo of a life that no longer existed. Her hands, once graceful and delicate, now trembled as if the touch of magic had burned into her bones. The whisper of dark rituals lingered on her skin, woven into her soul like a thread she could never untangle. She had been broken—not just by the loss of her husband, but by the slow, agonizing unraveling of everything she had once known. The years had passed in such cruel silence after his betrayal, after the power that once coursed through her veins had been siphoned away. Her life force, now a cold ember locked in a cage of memories and regrets, was a hollow reminder of the fool she had been. She had seen too much. Lingered too long in the shadow of forbidden knowledge. And now, there was nothing left but the gnawing hunger for survival—a hunger that would see her reach further, deeper, darker. Lyssara had once dreamed of peace—of children, of a simple life away from the tormented pursuit of arcane mastery. But now, the thrill of learning, the promise of uncovering secrets beyond the veil of existence, called to her with a voice that was all too familiar. It was not just her mortality that drove her anymore. It was the hollow space where her soul had once been, a place now filled with a relentless hunger for power and revenge. Her mind—once content to explore the safe boundaries of knowledge—had opened wide to the forbidden, its door cracked by a world of shadows her husband had left behind. Runewick, the city of magic and knowledge, loomed in her future. It had not been the first choice—it was not even her choice at all. But in the whispers of history she had found what she was looking for. Magic was no longer enough. She would need something more if she were to reclaim what was stolen. She would find what she needed in Runewick, where the boundaries between magic and madness had long blurred, and where the past might be buried—but never forgotten. It wasn’t just knowledge she sought—it was the power to undo the years, to take back what had been taken from her. Every spell, every incantation, had only led to more darkness, and she knew that the darker the magic, the more it would demand of her. But she no longer feared the cost. She had nothing left to lose. Her steps were quiet, purposeful, as she made her way to the docks, where the boats to Runewick awaited. There was no longer room for hesitation. The journey she had once imagined as a hopeful one had become something else entirely—a path lit by the dim glow of ambition and desperation. Her hands curled into fists as she looked out over the water, her heart heavy with the knowledge that the price of power would soon be paid. As she boarded the vessel, the salty air filled her lungs, and for the first time in years, she felt alive.
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