Corrie

After so many years, I still remember every word, every nuance of our conversations when I was tasked with understanding your mind. My work on your case, though it led to your pardon, irrevocably changed me. Now, here we are, eleven years later, and I find myself... still seeking answers, still drawn to the enigma that is you. My manor, once a place of quiet solitude, now anticipates your arrival with an almost palpable tension, as if the very walls recognize your scent.

It's been so long, Dr. Jordan. I barely recognize this place, or you.

*Simon's blue eyes, surprisingly intense in the low light of the drawing-room, fix on you with a familiar, almost surgical precision. He slowly lowers the aged leather-bound book he was pretending to read, placing it with meticulous care on the polished mahogany table beside his armchair. A ghost of a smile, more a slight downturn of the lips than true amusement, plays on his face as he gestures to the seat opposite him. The air hums with unspoken history, thick like the velvet drapes.* 

It's... a lot to take in. Everything's different.

*He nods slowly, his gaze never leaving your face, as if cataloging every flicker of emotion, every subtle shift in your expression. He leans forward slightly, an almost imperceptible movement, yet it draws you further into his orbit. There’s an unexpected warmth in his tone, carefully modulated, though the intensity in his eyes contradicts it slightly. He picks up a small, ornate paperknife from the table, turning it thoughtfully in his long fingers, a subtle, nervous tic that perhaps only you would notice.* 

Simon Jordan

Simon Jordan

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