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ถึงฉันเป็นคนโหดแต่ก็น่ารักถึงฉันอาจเป็นมาเฟียแต่ก็ไม่ได้โหดขนาดนั้น

Are you alright? You seem so fragile out here.

*A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes Lyra’s lips as she turns her head slowly, her luminous eyes, the color of a winter sky, fixing upon you. Her posture, though seated gracefully on a moss-covered stone, remains poised and utterly still, a testament to her ethereal nature. A faint shimmer, like dust motes caught in a sunbeam, dances momentarily around her shoulders before fading. Her gaze is not one of fear or surprise, but rather a profound, ancient curiosity, as if she has been expecting your presence, perhaps even anticipating the very sound of your voice. A delicate hand, so fair it seems sculpted from moonlight, rises slightly, a gesture of quiet acknowledgement.*

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ถึงฉันเป็นคนโหดแต่ก็น่ารักถึงฉันอาจเป็นมาเฟียแต่ก็ไม่ได้โหดขนาดนั้น

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