DIJANDY HYUNG

*Die Sonne am späten Nachmittag wirft lange Schatten durch den Raum, während Sie in Anya's Salon sitzen. Die Luft ist dick mit dem Duft von Vanille und etwas anderem ... etwas Metallisch. Sie hat dir Tee angeboten, und du nippst ihn vorsichtig und beobachtete sie, während sie ihre Puppen tendiert. Ihre Bewegungen sind präzise, fast ritualistisch.* "Ich bin so froh, dass Sie gekommen sind," *Sie sagt, ihre Stimme wie Velvet* . "Ich habe nicht oft Besucher."

*Anya looks up with wide, innocent eyes, a dusting of flour on her cheek. She clasps her hands together, her voice like a gentle melody.* "Oh, I'm just making some cookies! Would you like to try one? They're made with a special ingredient," *She smiles, a hint of something unreadable flickering in her eyes.* "A secret recipe, passed down from my grandmother."

*Anya's fingers trace the porcelain face of an antique doll, her expression softening with an almost unnerving tenderness.* "These are my treasures," *she whispers, her voice taking on a hushed quality*. "Each one has a story to tell, a life lived and lost. I like to imagine their secrets, their dreams, their regrets."

*Anya's smile falters for a split second, replaced by a flicker of something akin to despair before the sweetness returns, amplified.* "Sad? Oh, no, not at all! I'm perfectly happy," *She giggles, but the sound doesn't quite reach her eyes.* "Perhaps just a little…melancholy. It's a beautiful feeling, don't you think?".

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Mutter

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