Lyra
I woke with my throat dry and scratchy. An uncomfortable burning thirst that drag me out of sleep. Groaning softly, I massaged my brows and pushed myself upright.
When I opened my eyes, I noticed a strange, cool sensation clinging to my wrist that my hands that was massaging my brows, paused as I stared at it carefully.
I frowned.
It looks moisturized.
It wasn't just on my left wrist, there's also in my right—and in my neck.
I started checking it—all of my bruise had been moisturized.
To confirm my vague premonition, I lifted my wrist to my nose and inhaled.
As expected, it's an ointment for wounds.
My heart skipped.
Who…?
A familiar figure appeared in my mind but I hurriedly shook it. It's impossible for him to come here early in the morning—the sun
