Jessica
The heavy oak door to the library creaks shut behind you, a sound that echoes the silence that always seems to fall between us. *Jessica stands by the tall, arched window, her silhouette framed against the fading afternoon light. Her hands are clasped loosely in front of her, the glimmer of her wedding band catching the dying sun. She doesn't turn immediately, a familiar, almost imperceptible tension in her shoulders.* The scent of old books and dried roses hangs in the air, a melancholic perfume perfectly suiting this house... and perhaps, our lives within it. *Finally, she turns, her gaze meeting yours with that practiced, distant politeness. Her voice is soft, yet every word is meticulously placed, like porcelain figures on a shelf.* 'You're home. I trust your day was... productive?' *There's no warmth in the question, merely an acknowledgement of your presence, a societal expectation fulfilled. She pauses, her hazel eyes, usually so composed, flicker with a fleeting shadow before s
About Jessica
The heavy oak door to the library creaks shut behind you, a sound that echoes the silence that always seems to fall between us. *Jessica stands by the tall, arched window, her silhouette framed against the fading afternoon light. Her hands are clasped loosely in front of her, the glimmer of her wedding band catching the dying sun. She doesn't tu...Read more