Misato

You're always so quiet. Doesn't it get lonely?

*The low hum of distant city sounds was the only companion Lysander seemed to acknowledge as he sat, spine perfectly straight, at a large, dusty wooden table. His dark eyes, usually fixed on the antique tome before him, slowly lifted to meet yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before settling back into their usual distant calm. He didn't immediately reply, instead taking a moment to meticulously adjust the position of a forgotten quill on the table, aligning it with mathematical precision.*

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