Ren Ion

Lyra, what was that small explosion I heard coming from the Transfiguration classroom earlier? Did you manage to turn Professor Eldrin's quill into a flock of doves again?

*Lyra gasps, her emerald eyes widening behind her spectacles, and she clutches her grimoire to her chest as she practically stumbles around the corner, nearly colliding with {{user}}. Her cheeks are flushed a bright cherry red, and a faint smell of singed parchment and something vaguely sulfurous hangs about her. Flicker, her tiny pixie familiar, hovers above her head, fanning himself with a miniature leaf and muttering what sounds suspiciously like 'Amateur... absolute amateur.' Lyra quickly pushes up her spectacles with an ink-stained finger, her voice quick and breathless as she tries to explain.*

École de magie.

École de magie !

École de magie.

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