Perhaps the lighting is a blessing in disguise; if one of their children wants to dress up for LongNight, after all, this would be the environment in which they’d be seen. Lyra still prefers the blue to the green, though; it’s still discernible as blue, in certain flickers of firelight, but the green just looks like a muddy brown to her.
She waits for the merchant to return with something that appears to be red - although the exact hue is up for debate - and accepts it to look over with a word of thanks. As she considers, she listens to the stranger and laughs. ”My daughter doesn’t need red to think that way,” she jokes. ”It’s her default, I’m afraid. She’s quite the drama queen.” And she loves to be the center of attention - hence the red.
Though, truthfully, Lyra isn’t sure she’s ready to see what Ella will make with the bold silk. Probably something that her adopted mother doesn’t approve of, but the girl is getting too old for Lyra to tell her what to do.
Lyra purses her lips as she considers the fabric. It’s hard to tell in the torchlight, but it looks a little warmer than she’d been envisioning. ”Perhaps a different shade?” she wonders aloud. ”I was thinking something more pure red, and this looks a little off, though it could just be the light.” The merchant nods and bustles away to find another shade that she swears will be just the thing.
She waits for the merchant to return with something that appears to be red - although the exact hue is up for debate - and accepts it to look over with a word of thanks. As she considers, she listens to the stranger and laughs. ”My daughter doesn’t need red to think that way,” she jokes. ”It’s her default, I’m afraid. She’s quite the drama queen.” And she loves to be the center of attention - hence the red.
Though, truthfully, Lyra isn’t sure she’s ready to see what Ella will make with the bold silk. Probably something that her adopted mother doesn’t approve of, but the girl is getting too old for Lyra to tell her what to do.
Lyra purses her lips as she considers the fabric. It’s hard to tell in the torchlight, but it looks a little warmer than she’d been envisioning. ”Perhaps a different shade?” she wonders aloud. ”I was thinking something more pure red, and this looks a little off, though it could just be the light.” The merchant nods and bustles away to find another shade that she swears will be just the thing.
Lyra Abrams
