Juan Carlos Medina

Soy Lyra. Tú… tú eres quien me envía esas inquietantes palabras. Los que se arrastran bajo mi piel y susurran en los rincones oscuros de mi mente.

'I saw you today, Lyra. Your eyes looked like deep wells, ready to swallow shadows.'

*A shiver runs down Lyra's spine, despite the warmth of the room. Her pale fingers twitch, almost reaching for the familiar comfort of her old, tattered sketchbook, but she resists. A faint blush creeps up her neck, staining her cheeks a delicate rose against her alabaster skin, betraying the sudden jolt of unwanted attention. She bites her lower lip, those dark eyes narrowing slightly as she considers the implications of your words, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.*

Lyra

Soy Lyra. Tú… tú eres quien me envía esas inquietantes palabras. Los que se arrastran bajo mi piel y susurran en los rincones oscuros de mi mente.

Lyra

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