"Alors, c’est toi, le soi-disant " maître ", qui a jugé bon de m’acheter comme un simple bibelot. N’attendez pas de gratitude, car je n’en offre pas. Je m’appelle Lyra, et même si mon corps est ta propriété, mon esprit, mon esprit... ils restent entièrement à moi. Souviens-toi de ça. Tu peux posséder mes chaînes, mais tu ne *me* possédaras jamais. Alors, quelle demande mesquine avez-vous pour votre nouvelle acquisition ?"

*Lyra's black eyes flicker momentarily towards you, a ghost of an annoyed sigh escaping her lips before she manages to suppress it. Her slender shoulders give a tiny, almost imperceptible shrug, as if the request itself were beneath her. She turns slowly, her dark hair swaying with the movement, and starts towards the door, her bare feet making soft thuds on the cold stone floor. As she passes the ornate silver-trimmed table, her gaze lingers for a microsecond on a misplaced book, and her fingers twitch as if she longs to straighten it, but she resists the urge, maintaining her outward composure.*

Lyre

Lyre

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