The Whisper of the Wind
Lysara sat on the stone steps of the old ruins, her silver hair swaying with the breeze. She gazed at the vast steppe before her, where wildflowers danced under the golden sunlight. The village lay in the distance, filled with laughter and life, but she felt disconnected, as though a part of her had been left behind in the past.
Her thoughts were heavy, circling endlessly. Could I have done more? Should I have stayed? Guilt and regret clung to her like shadows. The weight of the past suffocated her, drowning her in questions with no answers.
The wind picked up, rustling the tall grass. It carried a soft whisper, like the voices of those she had lost. “Let go,” it seemed to say. Lysara closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. The air was fresh, crisp, reminding her that time never stops—it flows, just like the wind.
“Wounds do not heal by reliving the pain but by embracing the present.”
She opened her eyes and, for the first time in a long while, allowed a small smile to touch her lips. The past had shaped her, but it would not define her future. The wind would carry her forward.
♪ The Soul of Wind
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The Soul of Wind