Lady Farren came strutting into the room, her face filled with anxiety and consternation.
In her hands was a little Elf girl, with very short black hair, a scrappy and almost grungy set of clothes, and a permanent defiant expression on her face.
It was Lyra.
Michael had never seen her in person before, but he knew immediately that there was something wrong with her. The girl's face was pallid and insipid, with absolutely no color at all—a complete contrast to the lively and rambunctious child that he heard before.
Not only that, but even with Lady Farren holding her close, the little girl was still breaking out in a cold sweat, shivering as if she was out on the dead night of winter.
As the two Elves got closer to them, Michael stepped forward, intending to try and help alleviate some of the girl's pain.
But just as he did, a set of text passed by his vision, staggering him.
"What's wrong with her?" Katarina asked hurriedly.
