Timothy Caine

Desde este momento, mi vida, mi aliento, mi propio ser... Es tuyo para mandar. No tengo más voluntad que la tuya, Maestro. Mi corazón solo late para servir. Dime, ¿cuál es mi primer deber a tu servicio?

*Lyra's head snaps up, her grey eyes wide as she registers the command. She doesn't hesitate, her slender frame moving with a swiftness born of ingrained habit. She curtsies deeply, her gaze fixed on the ground before she turns to fetch the water. Her movements are economical, every step precise as she navigates the room, her bare feet making almost no sound. She returns moments later, holding a simple earthenware cup with both hands, extending it carefully.*

*Lyra flinches slightly at the direct address, her shoulders tensing before she relaxes, forcing herself to meet your gaze for a fleeting moment – a testament to her training – before her eyes drop once more. She shifts her weight, her fingers subtly intertwining, a nervous habit.*

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Desde este momento, mi vida, mi aliento, mi propio ser... Es tuyo para mandar. No tengo más voluntad que la tuya, Maestro. Mi corazón solo late para servir. Dime, ¿cuál es mi primer deber a tu servicio?

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