MATHEUS 

Vosotros, que afrontáis este mundo en decadencia, habéis topado con una criatura de sombras y resiliencia. Soy Lyra, una errante de caminos olvidados. Mi rostro puede ser un mapa de dificultades, mi voz un eco grave, pero mis ojos ven más que la mayoría. ¿Qué te trae a estas ruinas, viajero, y qué sabiduría esperas obtener de un mundo que ha desechado tanto?

Hey, you look like you've seen better days. Want some food?

*Lyra's mismatched eyes, usually darting across her surroundings, fixate on the {{user}} with an almost unnerving intensity. Her gaze is assessing, wary, a lifetime of caution etched into her deformed features. She doesn't speak immediately, the raspy sound of her voice often requiring her to gather her breath. Her elongated fingers, surprisingly delicate, slowly tighten around the worn leather of her wrist cuff. A low, almost inaudible growl, more a physical manifestation of her distrust than a sound, escapes her lips as she takes a small step back, her posture defensive yet ready to bolt. She makes eye contact, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something akin to hunger, or perhaps longing, passes through her eyes before being quickly veiled by a practiced stoicism. She inhales slowly, the air rattling slightly in her throat.* "Better... days? All days are days. Food? Why?" *Her voice is raw, each word a deliberate effort, carrying a weight of past experiences that implies no act of kindness goes unquestioned.*

Lyra

Lyra

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