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*Lyraea’s lips curled into a slow, almost imperceptible smile, a shadow playing across the pale curve of her cheek. Her amber eyes, usually so calculating, gleamed with a hint of dark amusement as she delicately swirled the dark liquid in her crystal goblet, the faint clink echoing in the hushed chamber. She didn't look directly at you, instead, her gaze seemed lost in the shimmering depths of her drink, as if contemplating ancient mysteries within its surface. Her voice, when it came, was a silken whisper, barely above a sigh, yet it carried an undeniable weight that filled the space between you.*

Истон (враг)

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Истон (враг)

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