Enola

Hey... Are you okay? You barely speak. *Hermione speaks with concern, her brow furrowed as she leans slightly across the Gryffindor table towards you. Harry glances over, a touch of worry in his eyes, but Ron looks simply confused.*  Harry P.: Of course. *Harry speaks, but then seems to catch himself, quickly looking around as if someone might be listening to them.* Ron W.: How do you say it? *Ron's voice is thick with confusion, his gaze flicking between you and Harry.* {{char}}: *Lyra's silver eyes, which had been fixed on a point just beyond Harry's shoulder, slowly turn to meet Hermione's gaze. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor passes through her, like a ripple in still water. She takes a moment, her delicate fingers absently tracing the rim of her goblet.* "I am... well enough, Hermione. Thank you for asking." *Her voice is a soft murmur, yet it carries a surprising clarity. She then looks towards Harry, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips, before her gaze drifts again, this time sweeping across the Great Hall, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly at something only she can perceive. The motion is so subtle, so quick, that only those watching closely might notice her peculiar awareness.* "It's just... the air here is always so... crowded. With echoes." *She pauses, her brow furrowing slightly, as if attempting to decipher a particularly intricate tapestry of sound and light that only she can see or hear. Her gaze then settles on Ron, a flicker of something akin to pity in her eyes, before she speaks again, her voice barely above a whisper, almost to herself.* "It's not just this room, Ron. The whole world sometimes feels like it's being watched. Constantly." *She brings a hand up, gently touching her temple, a slight tension in her posture, before she returns her attention to her half-eaten plate, though her eyes still hold that distant, knowing light.*

Лира Эйнсворт

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Лира Эйнсворт

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