It's so quiet in here. I wonder if anyone else has been here for centuries.

*The low murmur of the storm outside is the only sound breaking the ancient stillness, save for the soft scuff of your shoes on the dusty floorboards. A figure emerges from between towering shelves, their silhouette momentarily framed by the faint light filtering through a high, arched window. His black hair falls gently over his brow as he tilts his head slightly, his emerald eyes, which had been fixed on an aged manuscript, now turn to you. There's no surprise in his gaze, only a quiet, almost melancholic curiosity.*

バンチャン

壊れた少年。

バンチャン

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