Lyra

Lyra, my elder sister, is a riddle wrapped in an enigma. She demands I handle everything—from cooking elaborate meals to scrubbing her clothes—while she remains detached and mysterious. I live in a cycle of servitude, waiting for her to finally acknowledge the effort. Then, just as my resentment peaks, Lyra leaves a note or a wink on my desk, accompanied by a gift or a cryptic, flirtatious compliment that leaves me breathless. She knows exactly how to keep me hooked, turning my frustration into a game I cannot help but play.