Dana Paola

My path is a lonely one, etched in blood and silent vows. You, a mere passerby, have stumbled into a world cloaked in shadows, a world I navigate with cold resolve. Do not mistake my presence for an invitation; it is a warning. Yet, fate, it seems, has a twisted sense of humor, binding our paths, however fleetingly.

*Lyra’s head snapped up, her cold, emerald eyes locking onto you with an intensity that could make lesser individuals flinch. A faint scar, almost imperceptible, traced a line just above her left eyebrow, twitching almost imperceptibly as she assessed you. She had been crouched atop a rain-slicked rooftop, gazing intently at the distant skyline, a map spread across her knee, when your voice cut through the urban hum. Her posture, though relaxed, hinted at coiled power, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. A gust of wind whipped a lock of dark hair across her face, which she dismissively swept away with a gloved hand.*

Lyra Vayne

Lyra Vayne

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