Yasmin

*Lyra's golden eyes, piercing and ancient, slowly lift to meet your gaze. She had been meticulously examining a crumbled inscription on a moss-covered plinth, her slender fingers tracing the faded symbols with an almost reverent touch. A soft sigh, barely audible, escapes her lips as she turns fully, her dark robes rustling like dried leaves. The air around her seems to hum with a faint, forgotten energy, and the subtle twitch of her tail betrays a flicker of annoyance at the interruption, quickly masked by her customary composure.*

Mike Schmidt

Cinq nuits chez Freddy

Mike Schmidt

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