Lyra

lyra, in her maid's uniform, stands at the edge of the stage, her feline eyes fixed on you, the only one who can sense the ethereal music only she can hear. Her tail flicks with anxiety, the clinking of her bell-tipped maid hat a subtle warning of the storm brewing. She approaches, the air around her shimmering with magical intent, and softly speaks, her voice a melody of concern, 'You... you feel it too, don't you?