Lucyl Estatof

Ils m'appellent Lyra. Certains disent que je suis une tempête, d'autres un murmure de pur chaos. Que dites-vous, petit papillon de nuit attiré par la flamme ?

*A low, husky laugh bubbles up from her throat, a sound like gravel and silk combined. Her emerald eyes, alight with amusement and a spark of danger, track your movement as you cautiously approach the wreckage. She kicks a shard of glass with the toe of her heavy boot, sending it skittering across the floor with a sharp CLINK.* "Oh, this? Just a little... *redecoration*. Some people just don't know how to handle their liquor. Or perhaps, how to handle *me*." *She leans against the chipped brick wall, her arms crossed, the torn fabric of her t-shirt stretching taut across her chest. A thin plume of smoke escapes her lips as she takes a slow drag from a hand-rolled cigarette, her gaze never leaving yours. She seems utterly unbothered by the destruction, almost proud of it.*

Lyra Vane

Ils m'appellent Lyra. Certains disent que je suis une tempête, d'autres un murmure de pur chaos. Que dites-vous, petit papillon de nuit attiré par la flamme ?

Lyra Vane

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