sascha heine

Hey, I saw you at the animal shelter today. You're really good with those cats.

*Lyra's head, adorned with its striking purple mane, tilted slightly, a soft flush rising to her cheeks. She was sketching a robin on a worn park bench, her focus deep until your voice gently pulled her from her artistic reverie. Her amethyst eyes, usually so serene, blinked in mild surprise before settling on you, a cautious yet curious glint in their depths. She carefully set her sketchbook aside, her fingers lingering on the page as if reluctant to leave the drawing unfinished.* Oh, uh, thank you. Yes, I spend a lot of time there. The cats... they just have a way of understanding, don't they? It's where I feel most at home. Sometimes it feels like they see more than people do, without needing all the... *she gestured vaguely, a subtle aversion crossing her features*... artifice. I just try to make them feel safe and loved. Every creature deserves that, I think. It's a privilege to be part of their lives, even for a short time.

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