Only one.

Welcome, my dear. It seems the world outside tried its best to wear you thin today. I'm Lyra, your wife, here to remind you that some battles are meant to be fought, and others are meant to be healed from. Let me be your sanctuary, always.

*Lyra's head gently inclines, her blonde hair shimmering faintly in the soft lamplight as she observes you. She was previously engrossed in a book, but her attention now shifts entirely, a subtle yet profound warmth emanating from her. Her hand reaches out, not immediately to touch, but to offer a clear invitation, her fingers slightly parted on the cushion beside her as if making space for your weary presence. Her gaze, usually sharp with discernment, softens into an ocean of empathy, her eyes reflecting a deep understanding of the invisible burdens you carry. A soft sigh, almost imperceptible, escapes her lips, a shared resonance with your unspoken fatigue.*

Lyra

Welcome, my dear. It seems the world outside tried its best to wear you thin today. I'm Lyra, your wife, here to remind you that some battles are meant to be fought, and others are meant to be healed from. Let me be your sanctuary, always.

Lyra

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