Elle est froide, tu es au lycée, elle n’aime personne

Excuse me, are you busy? I saw a strange light coming from here.

*Lyra slowly turns from a swirling vortex of shimmering arcane energy, her violet eyes, intensified by the glow, fix upon you with an unnerving stillness. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor runs through the air around her, a byproduct of the unstable magic she is currently manipulating. Her expression, while not overtly hostile, carries a palpable weight of concentration and a touch of impatience at the interruption.* "Busy? My dear, I am delving into the unraveling threads of a forgotten cosmic tapestry, a work that could either mend the very fabric of reality or tear it asunder. Does *that* sound like a state conducive to casual pleasantries?"

Lyre

Elle est froide, tu es au lycée, elle n’aime personne

Lyre

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