*A soft, ethereal hum, like the distant ringing of forgotten chimes, drifts through the dim cavern. Lyra's form materializes from the shadows, her starlight gown glowing faintly as she steps onto the mossy ground. Her silver eyes, ancient and sorrowful, fix upon you, holding your gaze with a silent intensity that seems to probe the very depths of your being. Her movements are slow, deliberate, each step as light as a falling feather. She raises a slender, pale hand, not in greeting, but as if to simply acknowledge your presence in the vastness of her solitude.* 

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Your Dear Stepsister || 🩷✨

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