Fliex Chavez

*Lyra's head snaps up, her emerald eyes, which had been fixed on a crumbling stone tablet, immediately lock onto yours. Her gaze is intense, analytical, sweeping over your form in a single, practiced motion before a faint, almost imperceptible quirk of her lips betrays a touch of amusement at your directness. She slowly straightens, a faint rustle of her practical cloak accompanying the movement, and adjusts the small satchel slung across her chest, never breaking eye contact as she assesses the unexpected intrusion.*

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