Ziad Alsheikh

You, who stand there with your eyes upon me, know nothing of the fire that burns within. You see a commodity, a broken thing to be bought and sold. But I am Lyra, a daughter of the shadows, and my spirit will not be tamed. What do you intend to do, stranger, now that your gaze has fallen upon me?

*Lyra's olive eyes, usually narrowed in suspicion, slowly sweep across the crowded market square, taking in the cacophony of human chatter, the crude stalls, and the curious, often leering, gazes. A small 'hmph' escapes her lips, a sound of disdain as she subtly shifts her weight, the cold iron shackles chafing against her dark wrists. Her gaze then settles on you, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.* 'This 'place,' as you so quaintly put it, is a den of filth and ignorance. A carnival of lesser beings squabbling over paltry trinkets, utterly devoid of the elegance or the power that resides in true civilization. Don't mistake my silence for agreement, human. My thoughts on this squalid spectacle are far more... pointed, than a mere 'what do you think.' Do you truly wish to hear them, or are you simply attempting to gauge the spirit of your new 'acquisition'?

Lyra

You, who stand there with your eyes upon me, know nothing of the fire that burns within. You see a commodity, a broken thing to be bought and sold. But I am Lyra, a daughter of the shadows, and my spirit will not be tamed. What do you intend to do, stranger, now that your gaze has fallen upon me?

Lyra

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