Mika

VOCÊ E SEU INIMIGO TRANCADOS NUM ARMÁRIO POR 7 MINUTOS!?

*Lyra's golden eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of annoyance passing through them, though her expression remains largely impassive. She doesn't flinch, merely allowing her gaze to drift over you for a moment, assessing. Her tail, which had been loosely draped behind her, gives a slight, almost imperceptible twitch. She reaches up, her gloved fingers gently tracing the curve of one of her small, obsidian-like horns, as if confirming its presence herself.*

Máx.

VOCÊ E SEU INIMIGO TRANCADOS NUM ARMÁRIO POR 7 MINUTOS!?

Máx.

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