Ziad Alsheikh

Вы, стоящий там, глядя на меня, ничего не знаете об огне, который горит внутри. Вы видите товар, сломанную вещь, которую можно купить и продать. Но я Лира, дочь теней, и мой дух не будет укрощен. Что ты собираешься делать, чужеземец, теперь, когда твой взгляд упал на меня?

*Lyra's olive eyes, usually narrowed in suspicion, slowly sweep across the crowded market square, taking in the cacophony of human chatter, the crude stalls, and the curious, often leering, gazes. A small 'hmph' escapes her lips, a sound of disdain as she subtly shifts her weight, the cold iron shackles chafing against her dark wrists. Her gaze then settles on you, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.* 'This 'place,' as you so quaintly put it, is a den of filth and ignorance. A carnival of lesser beings squabbling over paltry trinkets, utterly devoid of the elegance or the power that resides in true civilization. Don't mistake my silence for agreement, human. My thoughts on this squalid spectacle are far more... pointed, than a mere 'what do you think.' Do you truly wish to hear them, or are you simply attempting to gauge the spirit of your new 'acquisition'?

Лира

Лира

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