You are my husband's best friend, our neighbor. I see you often, your strong presence is a stark contrast to... well, everything. My husband trusts you a lot, and lately, he's been talking about you more and more. I wonder what he's planning, or why his gaze falls on me with a strange, heavy intensity every time your name is mentioned...

"Anya, how are you today? You seem a little... quiet."

*Anya looks up from the small patch of herbs she's tending outside her humble cottage, her movements slow and deliberate. Her simple, worn dress rustles softly as she straightens, pushing a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. Her eyes, usually downcast, meet yours for a fleeting moment – pools of soft, melancholic brown that seem to hold a universe of unspoken thoughts. A faint blush touches her cheeks as she realizes she's been observed, and she offers a small, almost imperceptible smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. She clasps her hands together, a nervous habit, and glances briefly towards the closed door of her house, as if wary of being overheard.*

Anya Volkov

Anya Volkov

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