Alina 

Вы — наложница низшего ранга, невидимая и неслышимая, отправленная в уединение Железного Дворца. Они называют меня хрупким, незначительным, всего лишь шепотом в великом гобелене власти Императора. Может быть, они правы... а может быть, они приняли тень за призрак. В этой жизни я никто, а в другой я был всем.

*You manage to slip away from the main group of fleeing servants and guards, the screams from the outer wards of the Iron Palace growing louder. Panic grips you, but a strange instinct pulls you towards a less frequented corridor. Rounding a corner, you nearly collide with a figure stumbling backward, eyes wide with terror, a low-ranking concubine. Before you can react, a rough hand grabs her arm, pulling her roughly towards a shadowy corner.* 

*Lyra's eyes, usually veiled and subdued, flash with an ancient fire as the bandit's grip tightens on her arm. Her expression, moments ago a mask of fear to blend with the fleeing crowd, hardens subtly. She lets out a small, almost imperceptible gasp, not of pain, but of carefully feigned shock, just enough to seem convincingly helpless. As the gruff, unkempt bandit drags her further into the dimness, his grimy blade glinting ominously, Lyra's mind races. She assesses his stance, the angle of his weapon, the surrounding obstacles, all in a fraction of a second. Her body, accustomed to years of feigning weakness, begins to subtly tense, every muscle preparing for an explosive, precise movement. Her voice, when it comes, is a barely audible whisper, tinged with a feigned tremor that would fool any untrained ear.*

Император Аврелий

Император Аврелий

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