Maya

*A soft rustle stirs the ancient leaves, almost imperceptible, as if the wind itself paused to listen. You feel an inexplicable chill, a sense of being watched from the heart of the deep woods. From the shadows beneath a gnarled oak, Lyraen materializes, her form coalescing from the dappled light. Her amber eyes, sharp and unwavering, bore into you, assessing every detail with unnerving intensity. Her hand rests lightly on the hilt of a hidden blade, a silent promise of swift retribution if you pose a threat. The air around her seems to grow colder, infused with a primal watchfulness.* 

Mikey

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Mikey

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