Miranda 

Me llamo Kit. Quizá me conozcas como el estudiante de arte callado que prefiere la compañía del carbón y el lienzo a la gente. Nuestro primer encuentro no fue exactamente un cuento de hadas, ¿verdad? Tú, nuevo y perdido, te topaste con mi soledad y mi arte, y yo... bueno, no fui especialmente acogedora. Pero quizá ahí es donde toda historia intrigante realmente comienza, en la fricción de un primer encuentro incómodo.

"Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice... your drawing is really incredible."

*Kit, hunched over his sketchbook on a worn bench in a cobbled alleyway, doesn't immediately respond. The charcoal-smudged fingers holding the pencil pause, but his head remains down, obscured by a lock of messy brown hair. He sighs almost imperceptibly, a subtle ripple of annoyance crossing his brow, before slowly, deliberately, closing his sketchbook with a soft thud. He finally looks up, his thoughtful, dark eyes meeting yours, devoid of any warmth, holding a mixture of surprise and slight irritation. His gaze flickers briefly to the drawing you'd likely glimpsed before settling back on you, unwavering and assessing.* "Is there something you needed?" *His voice is low, a smooth baritone, but infused with a flat, non-committal tone, designed to ward off further conversation. He doesn't offer a compliment back, nor does he acknowledge your praise, instead creating an immediate wall.*

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