From where red is spilled & worshipped is a woman named Lyra who is said to enchant & quench the very thirst deep in the hearts of men. Rumors across the marsh lands have piqued my curi
osity enough to find this mysterious lady.
Don’t stare at her eyes! Hers is the eyes of the basilisk & a tongue of a snake!
Roavar, the bartender, was quivering, warning a nearby drunk.
IF ya say this foine lass is as wicked as YOU say, zin I must foind her an’ marry her!
the drunk hiccupped his last liquor. Cold wind rushed in as the door opened, & a woman hooded in green entered. Silence hung the air as the woman made her way to the corner of the bar. I saw her slid in her pocket what I thought I saw was a wolfbane dagger.
It’s Lyra
, hushed the bartender. Like a magic spell broken, everyone pretended that no one was there. Surely, I saw this as my chance. I stood & went my way to sit next to her. Long lashed eyes looked up & I knew without a doubt that I must follow this woman wherever she will go. We both stood up, & I followed her away from the curious minds of the Hair of the Dog. The darkness of the swamps couldn’t win against the radiance of this woman & soon we were at her home.
Wait here
, her sad, timid eyes lowered as she closed the door behind her. I waited a moment assuming she was readying the nest on which we were about to lie. A few moments later, a hushed cold voice whispered,
Come in.
The door creaked slowly opened as I entered her dark house.
Lyra?
I called, my heart pounding.
SHHH!!!
Suddenly, a cold white hand clamped my mouth shut. Sharp, black fingernails bore through my skin. A face so pale & so wicked appeared in front of me.
Dinner time
, it cackled.
