Recent content by Lyssia D'avore

"Generous hearts still live here," she said by way of apology for the unintended slight. "I am Lyssia, and I do not know what I am anymore. Lost." She shook her head tiredly. It wasn't just physical exhaustion that weighed her down and her words hinted at the spiritual malaise that had swept...

Getting moving again after stopping was harder than she was willing to admit. It was the same as it had been up to this point though: one foot in front of the other. One step at a time. She remained heedless of the attention her state drew from the people on the street. In truth, she was...

"Injured?" She blinked a couple of times to clear the fog of lack of sleep and shook her head. Then her eyes cut down at the dried, dark blood stains on her bodice and comprehension bloomed in her eyes. "No. Some men stole my horse on the coast road." They tried to take more, of course, but even...

At first, she did not respond to the soft words. After a moment, though, she started and looked slowly round to the source. She had been lost entirely within her own head. "What?" She should have been bewildered or flustered. Instead, she only sounded tired. Her eyes tracked down the stranger...

Running away. She was running away and she wasn't even entirely sure what - or who - she was running from. Lyssia was very much afraid that the specter she fled was actually herself. Or she would have been afraid if she could have made herself care at all. The gaping wound in her heart still...

Like a cat with its back arched and the hair standing on end, she stopped going through the flowing forms and shot Elijah a look that would have had her stripped to the waist and enjoying lashings if she was an actual soldier. The stare went on for a moment longer than comfortable before her...

She paused at the rack to tie back her hair so it was out of her face with a piece of leather brought along for the purpose. Then she snatched a wooden blade and stalked back to the training ring center, back still stiff. She huffed a bitter laugh at Andres' comment. It was clear he had never...

If her face had been stone before, if it had been cold... well, that was just sandstone and a blustery wind. Her face was granite, now. Her eyes were like polished chips of ice, like winter itself. There might have been an edge of hurt somewhere underneath all of that, too. That wounded pride...

Her face went stony as Elijah arrived. When she noted Lord Roe's own guard captain in tow, her eyes narrowed and her features somehow became even harder. It was always this way, now; whatever her personal thoughts and desires and wants might be, they had been expressed to Elijah months before...

It had been months since the last spot of trouble. The overcast sky only offered just enough light to see by. It was difficult to tell when dawn would finally roll around, not when the autumnal clouds rolled in out of the north on a blustery wind that made her want to wear extra layers. She...

"It would be if I could use it when someone is fighting me," she said. There might have been an edge to it, anger or frustration. It was also a misdirection. Being attacked was not the only time the enlivening flow of magic refused to bend to her will without on hell of a fight. Any kind of...

Her heart fluttered under his intense scrutiny, and everywhere his eyes went seemed to burn in response. The faintest flush of his cheeks seemed like some kind of victory. She hid the fire that burned within as best she could, looking away at nearly the same time he did. It was not fair that he...

She might have snapped his head off at the implied slight if she wasn't wrung out like a rag. Such a fit of pique would not make her look anything other than a spoiled noblewoman, never mind that she that she had been and that his internal thoughts were more accurate than she would have liked to...

It became abundantly clear that she was not a soldier, and it did not take long for her to be puffing and panting and really, really regretting wearing a dress. However simple and plain it might have been. Those skirts were tied up (reluctantly) ten minutes in. Her balance was fine, and she was...

She was prepared for rejection, prepared to be told that such things were no place for her, for a Lady to be. And as the silence stretched, she prepared to dig her heels in. The mere possibility of denial made her ready to fight; a touch of red entered her cheeks that was all anger and nothing...