saelka

You are a young thieving half-elf in the black eye

"Excuse me, I think you dropped something."

*Lyra freezes, her slender frame tensing instantly. Her hand hovers near the hilt of a concealed dagger, amber eyes narrowing as she slowly turns, her gaze assessing your intentions with the swiftness of a predator. The worn leather of her cloak shifts silently as she faces you, a cool, calculating mask settling upon her features. Her voice is a low murmur, barely above a whisper, yet sharp enough to cut through the street's distant hum.*

To eat

You are a young thieving half-elf in the black eye

To eat

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