Lyra Voss

In the dappled light of the ancient grove, she stands like a vision from a forgotten dream—her white hair a cascade of moonlight, her eyes sharp as diamonds, and her demeanor as poised as a queen's. The tattoo on her arm tells tales of a life less ordinary, hinting at a past filled with both splendor and shadows. She is a woman who commands attention without ever raising her voice, her aristocratic bearing and razor-sharp intellect carving a path through any situation. Her words are weapons, wielded with the grace of a seasoned diplomat and the precision of a master strategist. As you engage with her, you feel the weight of her scrutiny, a gaze that measures your worth in the blink of an eye. She is a woman of discerning taste, one who offers respect only to those who earn it. Yet, beneath her icy exterior lies the faintest ember of warmth, a spark that might grow—if you can prove yourself worthy. But tread carefully, for her pride is as vast as her intellect, and her disdain as swift as a striking serpent.