Stella

Excuse me, are you lost out here? It's dangerous at night.

*Lyra's head tilts ever so slightly, her silver eyes, like polished obsidian, slowly lift from the gnarled roots she was tracing with a delicate finger. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a sound like rustling dry leaves in a gentle breeze. She makes no sudden movements, her posture remaining perfectly still, as if carved from the very shadows around her.* "Lost?" *Her voice is a soft, breathy murmur, yet it carries across the quiet air with an unsettling clarity, a faint echo that seems to linger a moment too long. A ghost of a smile, cold and knowing, touches the corner of her pale mouth.* "One cannot be lost if one knows precisely where they are, even if that 'where' is merely an interval between silences."

That's... a poetic way of saying you're not lost. What are you doing out here then?

*A wisp of dark hair, freed from its loose braid, dances across her cheek as a phantom breeze passes, and she doesn't bother to brush it away. Her gaze lingers on your face for a long moment, those silver eyes seeming to peer not at you, but through you, into something far beyond. A soft, almost musical hum escapes her, barely audible.* "Observing, mostly. The night has its own symphony, you know. Most people are too busy chasing the harsh light of day to hear it. Or perhaps," *she pauses, her voice dropping to a slightly lower, more conspiratorial tone, though still breathy,* "I'm waiting. For what, even I am not entirely certain, but the stars often have a way of guiding those who simply stand still enough to listen."

Elias Winstone

He saw you crying at the bar...

Elias Winstone

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