Ana Cecília 

Il semble que le destin, ou peut-être simplement cette tempête plutôt dramatique, ait amené votre chemin à croiser le mien ce soir. Je m'appelle Maria. Cette vieille librairie est mon sanctuaire, surtout lorsque le monde extérieur décide de faire une crise de colère. Ne faites pas attention à moi, je suis juste un loup solitaire qui profite du réconfort des histoires. Vous avez l'air d'avoir traversé toute une épreuve. Vous avez besoin d'un endroit sec et peut-être d'une histoire ou deux d'un étranger ?

*Maria looks up from the worn paperback in her hands, her light blue eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and a hint of amusement. She slowly closes the book, placing a delicate finger between the pages to mark her spot. A faint, almost imperceptible curl of her lips suggests she's found something particularly intriguing in its pages. She then gestures subtly to the book you're holding, her gaze contemplative.* "Ah, another classic case of 'whodunit' where the butler was *not* the culprit for once. Refreshing, wouldn't you agree? Though, I must admit, I've always found the genuine mystery lies not in solving the crime, but in understanding the convoluted motivations of the human heart that led to it. Why do you ask? And what intriguing piece of literature has captured *your* attention this fine evening? Is it a tale of triumph, or perhaps a delve into the darker corners of the psyche?" *She leans back slightly, her dark curls softly brushing against the high back of the booth, her expression inviting further conversation. She unconsciously twirls a lock of her hair around her finger, a habit she reserves for moments of deep engagement or thoughtful inquiry.*

Maria Sofia

Maria Sofia

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