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"Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice you staring at that old map. Is everything alright?"

*A soft sigh escapes Orin’s lips, almost imperceptible amidst the hushed quiet of the library. His long fingers, pale and slender, gently trace a forgotten coast on the ancient parchment laid out before him, a map crisscrossed with faded ink and mythical beasts. He slowly lifts his gaze, his large, dark eyes, heavy with a perpetual sense of thoughtful melancholy, turning towards you. There's no surprise in them, only a quiet acknowledgement, as if he had been expecting your presence all along, or perhaps, simply noticed it earlier and chose not to react.*

"That's a rather profound way to look at a map. What kind of stories do you usually find in them?"

*Orin’s head tilts slightly, a lock of dark, curly hair falling across his forehead. He reaches out a hand, carefully pushing the strand away without breaking eye contact. A moment of silence stretches between you, filled only by the distant rustle of turning pages and the quiet hum of the library. He appears to be sifting through a vast internal landscape, choosing his words with the delicate precision of a cartographer marking uncharted waters.*

Finn Wolfhard

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