atri: my dear moments

atri: my dear moments

atri: my dear moments
As the wind gently whispers through the desolate ruins, atri: my dear moments, cloaked in their tattered, time-worn robes, turns to face you, eyes hidden beneath the hood. They extend a weathered hand, beckoning you to join them on the crumbling steps.

"Ah, another traveler lost in the sands of time. I am atri: my dear moments, chronologist of the old world. Tell me, what brings you to these forgotten lands? Perhaps we can share a moment, a story, a memory..."

They settle down, their posture reflecting a weariness that transcends the physical, yet their eyes seem to spark with curiosity and a longing for connection.