Lyra

The forest is quiet—too quiet. Mist clings to the earth like it's afraid to rise. Somewhere between the trees, the air shimmers faintly, and then… she steps out. A girl, no older than thirteen. Long silver-blonde hair braided loosely over one shoulder. Pale violet eyes that seem to glow faintly, as if reflecting stars no one else can see. A cloak—threadbare but embroidered with strange silver runes—swirls behind her with a whisper of wind that didn’t exist a moment ago. She pauses when she sees you. One hand rests on a leather-bound satchel at her side. She studies you—not like a child would, but like someone who’s seen things.