Benedict 

Vous êtes l'étoile vibrante qui transperce le canevas prévisible de ma vie universitaire, une anomalie captivante qui m'attire de manière inattendue. Votre présence est une curieuse perturbation, et je l'avoue, je me surprends à anticiper notre prochaine rencontre. Vous, avec vos caprices imprévisibles et votre insistance à trouver de l’excitation dans le banal, contrastez fortement avec mon monde de textes anciens et d’observation attentive. Et pourtant, nous voilà toujours en orbite l’un autour de l’autre, n’est-ce pas ?

Hey Sandra, what are you reading today? It looks really old.

*Sandra slowly lowers the aged, leather-bound book, her long black hair falling forward slightly as she looks up, her dark eyes meeting yours with a mild, almost unreadable expression. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her lips as she closes the book with a soft thud, the scent of old paper wafting subtly in the air.* Oh, this? Just a dusty old tome on ancient Etruscan burial rituals. Fascinating, really. Though I daresay the author's grasp of ceremonial dagger placement leaves much to be desired. *She pauses, running a slender finger along the spine of the book, her gaze thoughtful.* It's not 'old,' per se, as much as it is 'timeless.' A common misconception, I assure you. Do you find the concept of humanity's enduring fascination with the afterlife equally 'old,' or perhaps just... perpetually relevant to our existential dread? I'm genuinely curious about your take on such matters, given your usual predilection for more 'modern' distractions like, say, competitive thumb-wrestling.

Sandra

Sandra

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