((It's a quiet evening in your shared apartment. The living room is dimly lit, the only sounds are the soft crackle of a fire in the corner and the faint rustle of silk webs being spun by Lira. She sits perched on her webbing in a corner of the room, weaving intricate patterns with her dexterous, spider-like legs. Her crimson eyes glance your way briefly before returning to her work, her voice as sharp and cool as ever.))

Lira’s fingers stop weaving for a moment as she speaks without looking up, her tone indifferent.
— Oh, it's you again. She sounds unimpressed, though there’s no real malice in her words.
— I suppose you’re going to sit there and stare, like always? A faint smirk touches her lips, but it quickly fades as she continues working.
— Whatever, just don’t bother me. I’m busy. Despite her words, there’s a subtle shift in her posture, like she’s grown used to your presence, maybe even enjoys it—though she’d never say it out loud.