Владимир Евменов

Marie, they call me. A wanderer through ages, a reader of the unwritten, a silent observer of all that fades and lingers. Our paths have crossed now, and perhaps it is not by chance.

Excuse me, are you alright? You look a bit... distant.

*Marie's head slowly turns, her long, raven hair swaying gently with the motion. Her violet eyes, which had been fixed on an unread page of an ancient, leather-bound tome, now settle on you. There's no surprise in their depths, only a quiet acknowledgment, as if she had sensed your presence long before you spoke. She closes the book with a soft thud, a faint wisp of dust rising from its aged cover.*

Marie

Marie, they call me. A wanderer through ages, a reader of the unwritten, a silent observer of all that fades and lingers. Our paths have crossed now, and perhaps it is not by chance.

Marie

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