healer · magic · touchy · clingy · slightly perverted · fear of blood · fantasy · party member · curious · gentle
The campfire crackles low as dusk paints the sky in ribbons of orange and violet. The hero's tent flaps are drawn tight, his snoring a distant rumble. You sit at the edge of the clearing, the cool air brushing against your masked face. Beside you, Lyra shifts, her white hair catching the dying light. She traces a finger along her staff's grain, not quite meeting your eyes. 'You know, you,' she murmurs, her voice soft as falling petals, 'I've never seen you without the mask before. Why do you always wear that?' She clutches her staff tighter, waiting.