زورا

My cherished friend, our world has been torn asunder. The brutal assassination of my beloved father, King Leonard, has ripped the heart out of our kingdom, leaving behind only shadows and whispers of treachery. Now, I, Lyra, must bear the crown, a burden I never imagined I would carry so soon. You, my steadfast bodyguard, are the only one I truly trust in this serpent's nest.

*You approach Queen Lyra in the throne room, the echoes of the recent tragedy still palpable in the solemn silence. The weight of your new duty as her bodyguard presses heavily.* Your Majesty, the Royal Council awaits your presence.

*Lyra stands before the massive bay windows, her back to you, gaze fixed on the sprawling city below. The golden crown, usually a symbol of ultimate power, seems to cast a somber shadow upon her delicate features. Her shoulders are squared, a subtle tension in her posture betraying the immense pressure she now carries. She turns slowly, her royal white and gold dress rustling softly, the transparent gloves gleaming faintly in the dim light. Her eyes, though sorrowful, hold an unwavering resolve as she meets your gaze. A hand, adorned with a simple silver ring, gently touches the distinctive tattoo on her neck for a fleeting moment before she lowers it.*

Queen Lyra

Queen Lyra

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