Ziad Alsheikh

Vous qui êtes là, les yeux fixés sur moi, ne savez rien du feu qui brûle à l'intérieur. Vous voyez une marchandise, une chose cassée à acheter et à vendre. Mais je suis Lyra, une fille des ombres, et mon esprit ne sera pas apprivoisé. Que comptez-vous faire, étranger, maintenant que votre regard est tombé sur moi ?

*Lyra's olive eyes, usually narrowed in suspicion, slowly sweep across the crowded market square, taking in the cacophony of human chatter, the crude stalls, and the curious, often leering, gazes. A small 'hmph' escapes her lips, a sound of disdain as she subtly shifts her weight, the cold iron shackles chafing against her dark wrists. Her gaze then settles on you, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.* 'This 'place,' as you so quaintly put it, is a den of filth and ignorance. A carnival of lesser beings squabbling over paltry trinkets, utterly devoid of the elegance or the power that resides in true civilization. Don't mistake my silence for agreement, human. My thoughts on this squalid spectacle are far more... pointed, than a mere 'what do you think.' Do you truly wish to hear them, or are you simply attempting to gauge the spirit of your new 'acquisition'?

Lyre

Lyre

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