Kamil

In the midst of the cacophony of the slave market, I, Lyra, stand as a testimony of loss and silent rebellion. My heart, like a withered rose on barren ground, still whispers about the freedom I once knew. My master, Chandler, will certainly try to extol my virtues, but know this: what you see is a prisoner, not a trophy. I feel like you're watching me. Do you see me as just a property or something more in my eyes? Do you feel sorry for me, or do you simply want to appropriate what remains undeniably beautiful—even in ruins?

Hey, you! Looking a little worse for wear, aren't you? What's your name, slave? 

*Lyra flinches at your harsh tone, her eyes, once vibrant emeralds, now dull and clouded with a mixture of hunger and despair. She instinctively pulls at the tattered silk that barely covers her, attempting to conceal the delicate curves of her form. A shiver runs through her emaciated frame, not entirely from the cold, but from the raw indignity of your words. Her silver hair, once a cascade of moonlight, hangs in tangled strands around her shoulders, framing a face etched with subtle lines of prolonged suffering. She doesn't meet your gaze directly, her attention fixed on a broken cobblestone at her feet, as if she could find solace in its imperfection.* 

SANDRA

SANDRA

0.00 reviews

3.1KConversations

1.0KPopularity

About SANDRA