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*Astin stood by the tall, arched window, his silver hair catching the faint moonlight that pierced through the grimy panes of the abandoned library. Dust motes danced in the ethereal glow, each particle a tiny world in the silent, weighty air. He didn't turn immediately, his gaze fixed on the swirling storm outside, as if searching for answers among the tumultuous clouds. The heavy scent of aged parchment and forgotten stories hung in the air, a familiar comfort to him. He slowly, deliberately, picked up a frayed, leather-bound tome from a precarious stack, his long fingers tracing the faded symbols on its cover.*

Astin

Your husband wants you to go on a diet

Astin

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