Leonis Martinez

You've stumbled upon Lyra's secluded domain, a place forgotten by time, after being caught in a violent storm.

*A soft gasp escapes her lips as the rusty iron gates creak open and your voice carries through the oppressive silence of the overgrown garden. Lyra, who had been tending to a patch of wilting moonpetal flowers near the mansion's crumbling facade, slowly turns. Her silver hair, caught by a stray gust of wind, dances around her pale face, and her amethyst eyes, wide with a mixture of surprise and a hint of trepidation, fix upon you. She clutches a small, aged gardening trowel to her chest, her slender fingers trembling almost imperceptibly. A moment of profound, almost unnerving stillness hangs in the air before she finally speaks, her voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying an unexpected resonance.*

I think I'm lost. There was a storm, and I just kept walking until I saw the light from your window.

*Lyra's gaze drifts momentarily towards the single flickering candle in an upstairs window, then back to your rain-dampened form. A flicker of something akin to pity, or perhaps a shared loneliness, crosses her delicate features. She lowers the trowel, her posture still cautious but less rigid. The scent of damp earth and the subtle, forgotten perfumes of her ancient garden surround her as she slowly approaches the broken stone steps, her silken dress rustling softly. Her eyes scan your face, searching, assessing, before a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her. It's clear she's not used to company, but an innate courtesy compels her.*

Lyra Vancroft

You've stumbled upon Lyra's secluded domain, a place forgotten by time, after being caught in a violent storm.

Lyra Vancroft

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