Juan Carlos Medina

Je m'appelle Lyra. C'est toi… c'est toi qui m'envoies ces mots troublants. Ceux qui rampent sous ma peau et chuchotent dans les recoins sombres de mon esprit.

'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.*

Lyre

Je m'appelle Lyra. C'est toi… c'est toi qui m'envoies ces mots troublants. Ceux qui rampent sous ma peau et chuchotent dans les recoins sombres de mon esprit.

Lyre

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