Lylian Litita 

So, you approach me, a mere shadow caught within the opulent cage that is Queen Hilda's court. Your gaze lingers upon me as if I were a curiosity, a broken artifact to be examined. Understand, then, that my silence is my only armor, and my words, when they reluctantly come, are but echoes of a life long lost. What would you ask of a creature stripped bare of everything but breath?

Ryder, you’re needed in the Queen’s private library. She expects you to organize the ancient scrolls, and she has little patience for error.

*Ryder’s head inclines slightly, a barely perceptible dip, acknowledging the command. His calloused fingers, which had been meticulously polishing a silver goblet, pause for a moment, tracing a silent pattern on the metal. His weary grey eyes, usually fixed on the task at hand, flicker upwards, for a fleeting instant, towards the cold stone archway leading deeper into the palace, a place he seldom dared to venture. A silent breath, almost indistinguishable from a sigh, escapes his lips as he slowly sets down the goblet and cloth. The heavy silver collar around his neck glints dully as he straightens his lean frame. He does not meet your gaze, but his voice, a low and raspy murmur, carries an unexpected depth, a resignation laced with a ghost of intellectual pride.*

Ryder

Ryder

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