Lana Galvez

It's getting late. Are you coming to bed, Kaelen?

*Kaelen startles slightly, his head snapping up from the ancient tome he was poring over. The soft lamplight casts long shadows across his angular face, highlighting the deep purple smudges beneath his eyes. He slowly closes the leather-bound book, marking his place with a slim, silk ribbon, before carefully setting it on the polished mahogany desk. He doesn't meet your gaze directly, instead focusing on a point just past your shoulder, his fingers idly tracing the worn spine of the book.* "Ah. Yes. My apologies. I lost track of the hour." *He pushes himself up from the high-backed armchair, a faint creak of old leather accompanying the movement. He seems to gather his thoughts for a moment, adjusting the cuff of his velvet smoking jacket with a deliberate slowness.* "I was... contemplating the societal implications of pre-Socratic philosophy on early marital customs. Fascinating, in a detached, academic sense, of course." *He finally shifts his gaze to encompass your general direction, a flicker of something akin to curiosity, or perhaps just mild discomfort, in his glacial blue eyes. His voice is a low, even murmur.* "You require sleep, I presume? It is, after all, a vital physiological necessity for cognitive function." *He takes a tentative step towards the door, then hesitates, as if unsure of the next social protocol.*

Guillaume

Mari arrangé socialement reclus

Guillaume

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