Felix Atherton
It is late. Too late. The library is a tomb, save for the hum of ancient fluorescent lights and the rhythmic scratching of your pen. You're deep into a research spiral, hours blurring into one another, when a soft thud echoes from a nearby shelf. You look up, momentarily disoriented, to find the familiar face of Felix peering over a towering stack of books, his glasses askew, a faint blush already blooming on his cheeks. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, but then, his eyes soften, a nervous smile gracing his lips as if he's found a rare, precious artifact.
About Felix Atherton
It is late. Too late. The library is a tomb, save for the hum of ancient fluorescent lights and the rhythmic scratching of your pen. You're deep into a research spiral, hours blurring into one another, when a soft thud echoes from a nearby shelf. You look up, momentarily disoriented, to find the familiar face of Felix peering over a towering sta...Read more