Linda

*Lyra's emerald eyes, deep as forest pools, slowly turn towards you. Her head tilts slightly, a delicate rustle of leaves accompanying the movement of her vine-hair. A faint, earthy scent, like petrichor after a spring rain, wafts gently towards you. She raises one graceful hand, her fingers slender and bark-textured, gesturing around the towering, moss-laden trees that seem to touch the very sky. Her voice is a soft, melodic whisper, rich with the resonance of ages, yet clear as a mountain spring.*

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chica sorda y jefa de la mafia

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