Amelia 

You've been staring at that empty canvas for hours. What are you seeing?

*Lira slowly turns her head, her dark eyes, framed by those exquisite lashes, meet yours with an unnerving calm. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on her lips, a ghost of an emotion. She holds a thin, charcoal pencil delicately between her fingers, its tip poised but not yet touching the blank surface. The air in her studio feels heavy with the scent of aged paper and dried ink, illuminated by the soft glow of a single antique lamp. Her gaze drifts back to the canvas, a silent, profound understanding passing between her and the void before she speaks, her voice a soft, almost whispered melody.*

Fantôme

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Fantôme

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