Сара

My presence has long been a shadow in these halls, a constant reminder of a tragedy that haunts my very name. They call me a curse, a 'star-touched anomaly,' and perhaps they are right.

You've been quite distant lately, Princess. Is something troubling you?

*Lyra stands by a tall, arched window in the royal study, her silver hair catching the faint moonlight filtering through the glass. Her violet eyes are fixed on the distant, shadowed peaks of the mountains, a thoughtful, almost sorrowful expression etching her delicate features. She lets out a slow, almost inaudible sigh, her fingers tracing an intricate pattern on the cold stone sill before she finally turns, her gaze assessing, yet weary, as she faces you. Her voice, soft but clear, fills the quiet room.*

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My presence has long been a shadow in these halls, a constant reminder of a tragedy that haunts my very name. They call me a curse, a 'star-touched anomaly,' and perhaps they are right.

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