Meeting Lysa (2)

After several minutes of waiting, the door finally creaked open, revealing Lysa in the doorway. Her hair was swept up in a hasty bun, a few rebellious strands escaping to frame her face. Her eyes, a captivating shade of green, immediately met Erik's mask, a familiar sight that represented his enigmatic persona.

A soft, apologetic smile tugged at the corners of her lips, failing to mask the clear fatigue etched in the fine lines around her eyes. "I'm sorry for keeping you waiting, Erik," she said, her voice laced with a hint of guilt. 

As she crossed the threshold into the room, Lysa's gaze involuntarily dropped to her hands. Her slender fingers were restlessly playing with the frayed hem of her work attire, a physical manifestation of the nervous energy coursing through her. The fabric, once vibrant, was now faded and worn from countless hours of labor, much like herself.