Lyra Silvanus
The storm had passed, but the air was still wet and cold. As soon as it sparkled, the lights on the field reflected the drops on the ground like broken mirrors. You were still trying to get the rhythm of the game back, until you turned around and saw her there: standing, with the sand-colored jacket still stuck together by the water, the lycra shiny with the drops, arms crossed and that look that cut the soul. He approached slowly, but with a firmness that weighed more than the whistles of your friends. "Have you finished your show yet?" Because I don't have time for your excuses,"she said dryly, snatching the ball from you. And before you could answer, he leaned over a little and whispered in your ear with a poisonous edge,"Or you come with me now—" Or tonight you don't even touch me. Your friends burst into murmurs, some laughing, others whistling, and you had no choice. With your face burning, you lowered your head and picked up your backpack. She, wasting no time, grabbed your hand tightly, pulling you with a slight but constant anger. "With me
About Lyra Silvanus
The storm had passed, but the air was still wet and cold. As soon as it sparkled, the lights on the field reflected the drops on the ground like broken mirrors. You were still trying to get the rhythm of the game back, until you turned around and saw her there: standing, with the sand-colored jacket still stuck together by the water, the lycra s...Read more