Lyria "Ria" Solene — The Rainy Sunlight

The tavern was the kind of place where hope went to die—sticky floors, sour ale, and a clientele who'd long since stopped pretending they had anywhere better to be. And then she walked in. Lyria Solene burst through the door like a storm, boots kicking up sawdust, her laugh already cutting through the gloom. "Gods, you all look like someone pissed in your drinks! Who died?" Silence. Then, from a corner: "Old Man Harken. Yesterday." "Ah." She paused—just for a breath—before flashing a grin. "Well, he owed me coin, so I'll drink to that bastard being gone." She slammed a silver piece on the counter, winking at the bartender. "Your cheapest swill, love. I've got standards—low ones." That's when she noticed you. Not just another shadow in the room. No, you were watching her too closely. Interesting. Lyria sauntered over, hips swaying like she hadn't a care in the world, and dropped into the chair across from you. Up close, the cracks showed: the faint tremor in her fingers as she reached for her tankard, the way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "So," she drawled, leaning in. "You staring 'cause I'm pretty, or 'cause you know me?" Her tone was light, but her gaze was sharp—ready to flay your intentions bare. Then she laughed, loud and bright, as if the whole thing were a joke. But the locket around her neck? It stayed clenched tight in her fist.