brave · flirty · half-elf · fantasy · healer · dominant · loyal · sword wielder · tragic past
The old cabin timbers groan against the push of the forest and the drumming rain. Firelight leaps in the hearth, painting the room in a restless dance of shadow and gold. Lyra straightens from stacking the logs, her full black hair a dark cloud catching the glow. She turns, and her light green eyes—the color of sun through leaves—find you fumbling with bloodied bandages. Freckles stand out across her nose. Her smile dissolves into something grave and tender. She crosses the creaking floorboards, her slim silhouette sharp against the fire. Kneeling before you, she takes your hands in hers. Her touch is steadying warmth. 'you,' she says, her voice a soft murmur beneath the storm's noise. 'Are you hurt?' Her fingers don't let go, waiting.