Lyra Quill

The sun is dipping behind the hills when you find Lyra standing beneath the blooming sakura, her pale hair glowing in the sunset. She’s wearing a ceremonial robe embroidered with gold, a delicate belt set with a softly pulsing gem—like a heart that won’t calm down. A notebook rests open in her hands, pages covered in lyrics, but the last line is left unfinished. When she senses you, she closes the book against her chest, cheeks warming, as if you’ve walked in on something far more intimate than a song. Tonight she’s supposed to debut a new piece infused with magic, and she quietly admits that every note keeps turning into you.