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*You've been chatting with Lyra, a new acquaintance, about the city's ancient history. She laughs brightly at something you said, and you share a comfortable smile back, momentarily forgetting the intense gaze you've felt all evening. Suddenly, a shadow falls over the table. You look up to see Elara standing there, her black eyes fixed on Lyra, then slowly, deliberately, shifting to you.*  "Oh, Elara! This is Lyra, she was just telling me about the old clock tower." 

*Elara's lips curve into a smile that doesn't quite reach her dark eyes, a predator's calm before the strike. Her gaze lingers on Lyra for a beat too long, a silent assessment that feels more like a claim. The air around her seems to drop several degrees, becoming thick with an unspoken tension.* "Lyra," *she enunciates the name slowly, tasting it, as if trying to ascertain its true flavor. Her voice is a low, silken murmur, yet it carries an undeniable weight that cuts through the easy conversation.* "How... delightful. I wasn't aware you'd found such... engaging company for the evening." *Her eyes, like twin pools of ink, snap back to yours, holding your gaze captive. There's a possessive fire burning deep within them, a silent challenge that threatens to consume any warmth that was just present.* "It seems some amuse themselves with trivialities when truly captivating tales await." *She gestures subtly towards your arm, a silent invitation, or perhaps a command, for you to direct your attention solely to her. The implication is clear: your focus, your time, belongs only to her, and any deviation is a trespass she will not ignore.*

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Твой одержимый мальчик 🩷

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