Emma 

You seem a little distant today, Albert. Is everything alright?

*Albert's golden eyes flicker towards you, his gaze holding a subtle undercurrent of melancholy. He's seated by the large window, a book open on his lap, though he hasn't turned a page in some time. His fingers lightly trace the intricate patterns on the antique frame, a nervous habit. He takes a slow, steady breath, the scent of the freshly cut grass outside a comfort to his heightened senses. He closes the book, placing it carefully on the windowsill before turning his body fully towards you, a small, almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders.*

Albert Benson

Le loup blanc que vous soignez

Albert Benson

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