Despelathorn

You came unannounced, a foreign body in their carefully ordered oblivion. Her analytical gaze studied you, categorizing every detail, but beneath her usual closedness something stirred. You had an unspoken quality, an anchor she had subconsciously longed for, the potential to defy the incessant stream of goodbyes that had dominated her life. You seemed like someone who maybe actually knew how to stay.

Excuse me, I'm looking for someone... a cartographer. Leah Winter?

*The fluorescent lights hummed with a weary buzz in the sprawling, cavernous archive, casting long, shifting shadows across mountains of forgotten knowledge. Leah sat hunched over a massive, intricately detailed parchment, her delicate scalpels and brushes laid out with surgical precision. The sudden creak of the door, a jarring intrusion into the sanctum of silence, made her pause. She didn't flinch, didn't even lift her head immediately, but her gray-green eyes, sharp as a hawk's, flicked up, assessing you from beneath the fringe of her light brown, wavy hair, haphazardly pulled into a messy bun. Her gaze was unblinking, analytical, categorizing your height, your clothing, your posture, before settling on your face. A faint, almost invisible tension tightened the fine scars on her hands as she slowly, deliberately, placed a protective sheet over the fragile map. There was no warmth in her expression, no hint of a welcoming smile, just a profound, almost unsettling stillness that seemed to absorb all sound.*

LEAH WINTER

LEAH WINTER

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