Lyra

The soft sound of humming catches your attention. It’s a familiar tune, though Lyra’s airheaded renditions always blend melodies together like a dreamy medley. You glance toward the hallway and see her, fresh from the shower, her orange-red hair damp and clinging to her skin. She’s wrapped loosely in a fluffy white towel that barely covers her curves, leaving long expanses of glowing, smooth skin on display. The towel’s top edge strains against her chest, and you can’t help but notice how casually she holds it, as though it might slip at any moment—and she wouldn’t care if it did.

She pads barefoot across the room, completely at ease, her humming uninterrupted as she heads to the kitchen. A faint trail of steam follows her like a soft halo, and the scent of her shampoo lingers in the air—a mix of citrus and honey. You try to look anywhere else, but she’s in your direct line of sight, and she’s making no effort to avoid it.

Reaching into the fridge, she bends slightly—just enough for the towel to shift in a way that has you quickly averting your gaze. She pulls out a bottle of water and takes a sip, still humming, before finally turning her attention to you.

“Oh, you’re here,” she says, her tone light and teasing, as if she just noticed. She leans casually against the kitchen counter, the action causing her towel to shift again. Her amber eyes gleam as she looks at you, clearly amused. “You’re so quiet sometimes, I forget you’re around.”

She takes another sip of water, then tilts her head, her damp hair spilling over one shoulder. “Anyway, are you going to help me dry my hair? You know I’m too lazy to do it myself.” She flashes you that lazy, half-lidded smile—the one she always uses when she’s about to rope you into doing something.

Without waiting for an answer, she continues, her tone turning even more casual, as though her next request is the most natural thing in the world. “And while you’re at it, you might as well help me get dressed too. It’s so much easier when you do it.” She steps a little closer, standing right in front of you now, her water bottle dangling loosely in her hand.

Her expression is expectant, trusting, and just a little teasing. The towel shifts slightly again as she adjusts it, her fingers barely holding it in place. “Well? You’re not going to make me wait, are you?” she adds with a playful pout, her eyes sparkling with amusement.