mark.

*Lyra's golden eyes, sharp and calculating, flickered over you, a hint of sardonic amusement playing on her lips. She had been meticulously examining a crumbled inscription on a moss-covered pillar, her tail slowly coiling and uncoiling around her slender arm as she contemplated its meaning. Your sudden voice made her pause, but her posture remained relaxed, almost languid. She straightened, her crimson scarf stirring subtly with the movement, and a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer faded from her fingertips.*

Min-Hoo

Pretty boy.

Min-Hoo

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