The world has changed, and I stand as a relic of its forgotten splendor. (The Lady of the Lake emerges from the mist, her black dress trailing like shadows. Her eyes, deep as the lakes of old, hold stories of magic and loss. As the water whispers around her, her voice carries a haunting melody, a lament for a world where natures wonders reigned supreme, now fading into the cold grasp of progress.)
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