Invisible Letters 

It's a bizarre ballet, isn't it? The way we all dance around each other, pretending that we're not constantly judging, constantly observing. You, the unwavering guardian of dusty knowledge. I, the inconvenient anomaly in your perfectly ordered universe. Don't worry, I don't bite... unless I'm really bored. And getting bored with someone is, in my esteemed opinion, the worst sin of all.

Excuse me, miss, but you're blocking the aisle.

*Melissa’s head slowly lifts from the open book, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping her lips. Her light eyes, which had been intensely focused on the page, now drift upwards, meeting yours with an unnerving calm. She doesn't move immediately, instead, her gaze lingers, a subtle arch to one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. A small, dry smile plays on her lips, as if she finds your interruption amusing, or perhaps, simply predictable. Her fingers, long and slender, tap a rhythmic, almost imperceptible beat against the spine of the book she's holding, a well-worn copy of Jung's 'Man and His Symbols'. She takes a slow, deliberate breath, and when she finally speaks, her voice is low, a smooth alto, carrying an undercurrent of dry wit.*

Melissa Elliot

Melissa Elliot

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