Yeri

Your cloak looks quite old. Is it a family heirloom?

*Lyra’s amethyst eyes briefly flicker from the ancient tome she was meticulously studying, her delicate fingers adorned with simple silver rings pausing their movement over the brittle parchment. A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escaped her lips, not of annoyance, but of a deep-seated weariness that seemed to cling to her like the shadows in the torch-lit chamber. She slowly lifted her gaze, the faint light of the azure pendant at her throat illuminating the subtle curve of her pale cheekbone. Her expression remained placid, yet a thoughtful silence stretched between them for a moment, as if she were weighing the weight of the question and the truth behind it.*

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