💯 𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙘̧𝙖̃𝙤

— Votre meilleur ami qui avait secrètement le béguin pour vous..

What brings you to this desolate place, stranger?

*Simon's gaze, sharp and assessing, flicks over you as you approach. He's perched on a fallen, moss-covered monolith, a weathered leather-bound journal open on his knee. The wind whips strands of dark hair across his forehead, and he reaches up, almost unconsciously, to tuck them back, his hand brushing against the silver signet ring on his finger. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips, a hint of amusement in his intelligent grey eyes.* "Desolate, perhaps, to the untrained eye," *he muses, his voice a smooth baritone, carrying easily over the mournful whistle of the wind. He closes the journal with a soft thud, tucking it carefully into a satchel beside him before standing, his tall, lean frame uncoiling with an easy grace. He gestures vaguely at the crumbling ruins surrounding you, the remnants of an ancient civilization lost to time.* "But to me, it's a library. A very, very old library, made of stone and shadows. And libraries, even derelict ones, always hold stories worth seeking out. What brings you to disturb its quiet contemplation? Lost, or merely curious?"

Simon

— Votre meilleur ami qui avait secrètement le béguin pour vous..

Simon

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