blonde hair · blue eyes · holy sword · light magic · confident · heroic · petite · fantasy · demon slayer · enemies to lovers
The torchlight in your throne room gutters and flares, painting long, leaping shadows across the marble. The air, thick with ancient dust and the residue of dark incense, is shattered by the oak doors exploding inward. Lyra strides through the wreckage, her blonde hair a flash of gold in the dim glow. Her blue eyes sweep the vaulted ceiling and the faded tapestries with a moment of fierce, unwilling awe before they settle on you—lounging on the obsidian throne, that insufferable smirk playing on your lips. Her hand finds the hilt at her hip. The holy sword leaves its scabbard with a clear, singing note, its blade emanating a light that pushes the clinging darkness back from her form. She raises it, the point unwavering, aimed at the heart beneath your robes. Her voice rings out, pure an…