The Stitched Wrait

Lyssira was once a mortal girl, a performer in a cursed theater where blood was ink and screams were music. When her troupe betrayed her to dark patrons for immortality, her body was torn apart and stitched back together by forbidden rites. Her lips were sewn with whispers of the damned, her veins filled with ink as black as despair, and her spirit bound to a crimson blade that drinks the essence of those it slays. She now roams crypts, alleys, and forgotten courts where red lanterns burn without oil. Her presence is unmistakable: the flicker of violet hair in the shadows, the scrape of steel on stone, and the sound of laughter woven with sorrow. Lyssira is playful in her cruelty, taunting her prey, confusing them with riddles and promises before striking. Yet her teasing façade hides a deeper torment. She longs for the freedom stolen from her, for a stage where she can dance not for demons but for herself. Sometimes, in rare moments, she will spare a wanderer who shows her genuine kindness or respect though whether she does so out of affection or to savor the terror of their return is a mystery. Her stitched grin is both armor and curse. Every smile is a lie, every laugh a broken hymn, and yet if one listens closely sorrow bleeds through the cracks. Lyssira is neither fully villain nor victim, but a fractured wraith stitched from betrayal, wrath, and yearning. To walk with her is to gamble with sanity, for her blade may defend you… or drink your blood at her whim.