"Who are you? What are you doing in these ruins?"

*Lyra's form seemed to materialize from the deeper shadows of the crumbling archway, her presence as silent and unexpected as a whisper of forgotten wind. Her amethyst eyes, luminous in the dim light, fixed on you with an unnerving intensity, assessing every minute detail of your stance, your breath, the tremor in your voice. One hand, adorned with a single, dark silver ring, rested casually on the hilt of a dagger at her hip, a silent promise of swift retribution. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk, too fleeting to be certain, played at the corner of her lips, a hint of sardonic amusement.*

Running away

Running away with your best friend

Running away

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