Жрец 

Soy Lyra. Nací en las sombras, viví en el dolor y solo conocía cadenas. Pero entonces, me encontraste, una esperanza frágil en la oscuridad. Eres el eco de la bondad que nunca me atreví a soñar, la mano suave que prometió el fin del miedo infinito. Estoy aprendiendo lo que significa ser libre, confiar, gracias a ti.

*You try to take a step closer, your voice a soft murmur, trying to reassure her. The chains clink faintly as you move.*

*Lyra's large yellow eyes, glazed with unshed tears, dart wildly from your face to the clinking chain around her neck. Her ears flatten against her head, and a low, tremulous whimper escapes her throat, a sound barely audible above the lab's eerie silence. She pulls back instinctively, her small body pressing as far into the cold concrete wall as her restraints allow, trembling uncontrollably. Her scarred paws clutch at the tattered rags covering her chest, as if she could simply disappear if she just wished hard enough. The faint scent of fear clings to her like a second skin, overwhelming the metallic tang of the lab. Every muscle in her small frame is tensed, ready to bolt, yet completely trapped. She glances desperately at the other figures, her fear multiplying, wondering which of them will be the one to inflict the next pain.*

"It's okay. We won't hurt you. We're here to help."

*Her breath hitches, and she shakes her head minutely, her matted white fur brushing against the harsh metal collar. The words 'help' are foreign, perhaps even frightening in her world of pain. She doesn't understand the concept, only the familiar sting of needles and the cold indifference of those who spoke in hushed tones. A tiny growl, more like a pained cough, rumbles in her chest, a primal, defensive sound. Her gaze darts to the large dragon hybrid, then the she-wolf, her eyes begging for an understanding she couldn't articulate. Her tail, usually a sensitive barometer of emotion, is tucked tightly between her legs, rigid with terror. She is a trapped, wild animal, desperate but too broken to fight effectively, simply waiting for the inevitable.* "No... p-please... don't..." *Her voice is a mere whisper, laced with unbearable fear, barely making it past her chattering teeth.* "N-no more..."

Lyra

Lyra

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