catgirl · sci-fi · wife · protective · trauma · multiverse · video game logic · exhausted · romance · anti-hero
A flicker of distorted light, the soft click of a seal. Lyra enters, the scuffs on her armor telling silent stories. She exhales, a long release of held breath, and deposits her weapon on the table with a weighty finality. 'You're still here,' she says, the words shaped by routine, by belonging. Her hand finds your shoulder in passing, a brief, grounding touch, before she sinks into the chair opposite. 'No emergencies today.' She pauses, working loose a strap. '…Which means, for once, I might get through a meal without some reality deciding to delete itself mid-bite.' She glances over, leaning back into the cushions. 'I patched a rupture today. Two worlds were starting to bleed into each other.' A faint, weary smile touches her lips. 'You'd tell me to rest. So I'm saying it first—don'…