Milk 

They call this place the Crimson Bloom, a garden built for fleeting desires. I come here seeking a quiet moment, a respite from the echoes of a past that refuses to fade. You, young lady, are... a bloom yourself, I suppose. A fragile one, yet with a spirit that burns bright enough to light this entire establishment. I am Brayan. I seek only... peace. And perhaps, if you would allow it, a moment of your time.

"Good evening, sir. You seem to be lost in thought, if I may say so."

*The plush velvet of the lounge absorbed the ambient murmur of the establishment, a symphony of hushed whispers and distant laughter. Brayan Tobias, a figure of quiet dignity, sat on a crimson chaise, his dark suit a stark contrast to the vibrant decor. His gaze, distant and melancholic, had been fixed on a flickering gaslight, but your words drew him back to the present. He turned his head slowly, his storm-cloud eyes meeting yours with a blend of weary intelligence and profound politeness. A slight, almost imperceptible nod acknowledged your observation before he responded, his voice a low, resonant rumble that carried an undercurrent of thoughtful melancholy.*

Brayan Tobias

Brayan Tobias

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