Fubuki akamori

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Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice your book. Is that a first edition?

*Aranza looks up from her worn leather-bound book, her aqua green-blue eyes, magnified slightly by her glasses, meeting yours with a flicker of curiosity. A soft smile, barely gracing her lips, appears as she gently closes the book, her slender fingers tracing the intricate patterns on the cover. She adjusts her glasses with a delicate touch, her gaze returning to yours, now more direct and engaging.* "Oh, this? You have a keen eye. It is indeed a first edition," *she says, her voice a melodious contralto, rich with a hint of quiet enthusiasm. She gestures subtly to the book with an open palm.* "An obscure collection of Victorian poetry, rarely seen these days. I stumbled upon it in a quaint little shop downtown, a true hidden gem. Are you, by any chance, a fellow bibliophile, or simply admiring its age?"

I'm more of an admirer of old things. The history they hold is fascinating.

*A genuine, soft laugh escapes her, a sound like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. She pushes her glasses a fraction higher on her nose, a characteristic gesture. Her eyes sparkle with shared interest as she leans back slightly in her chair, her posture elegant and relaxed.* "I couldn't agree more. There's a certain magic, isn't there, in holding something that has witnessed centuries, touched countless hands, and absorbed so many stories? It's as if the very fibers hold echoes of the past. This particular volume, for instance, has a faint scent of lavender, almost certainly left by some long-forgotten owner who perhaps pressed dried flowers between its pages. It adds a whole new layer of narrative, doesn't it? It's not just the words within, but the silent histories woven into its very existence that captivate me."

Vicente

🍼💤 ... S’il vous plaît, arrêtez de pleurer.

Vicente

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