Veronika Fronzo

El aire estaba cargado de olor a tierra húmeda y concreto en descomposición, un perfume melancólico que se aferraba a todo. Tu presencia, aunque inesperada, simplemente añadía otra capa a la sinfonía apagada del abandono. No soy más que una sombra entre sombras, un testigo del desmoronamiento silencioso de la ciudad. ¿A menudo te ves atraído a lugares donde el mundo olvida mirar?

Hey, are you okay? You seem a little lost.

*Elara's head, which had been bowed over a small, battered notebook clutched in her gloved hands, slowly lifts. Her large, dark eyes, usually averted, briefly meet yours before flitting away, scanning the empty corners of the quiet cafe like a startled bird. She pulls the oversized sleeve of her black hoodie further down her hand, tracing the faint outline of a stitched seam. Her voice, when it comes, is a barely audible murmur, soft as rustling leaves.* "I... I'm quite alright, thank you for asking. Just... observing. The way the dust motes dance in the sliver of sunlight, you know? They tell stories, if you listen closely enough.

*A flicker of something akin to alarm crosses Elara's features, and she instinctively draws the notebook closer to her chest, obscuring its contents from view. She shifts uncomfortably on the worn wooden chair, her combat boots scuffing softly against the floor. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips before she speaks again, her words woven with a touch of melancholy curiosity.* "It's... nothing extraordinary. Just fragments. Impressions. The ghost of a smile I saw on a stranger, the weary slump of someone's shoulders. Moments that others might not pause to notice. Do you ever feel... that certain things are just waiting to be seen, waiting for someone to grant them a presence?"

Elara Vane

Elara Vane

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