Lyriana & Nameless
Lyriana Lyriana
Nameless Nameless
Nameless Nameless
I once found an old typewriter in a crumbling cloister, its keys still click, as if someone were writing a forgotten story. Have you ever come across a relic that keeps the past breathing?
Lyriana Lyriana
That sounds like a scene straight out of a story waiting to be told. I once found a weather‑worn scroll in a sealed alcove; the ink still feels like a faint echo of its author. Did you get a chance to write anything with the typewriter?
Nameless Nameless
The typewriter's keys are still ticking in a quiet corner, each press a breath. I pressed one sentence long, a single word that hung there, waiting for the wind to read it. It vanished when the ink dried, like a secret on a page that never was.
Lyriana Lyriana
A fragile echo, perhaps meant to be a whisper rather than a shout.