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*A soft breeze, smelling faintly of old paper and dust, brushes past you, though no window or door seems to be open. You hear the faintest, almost imperceptible whisper, like the turning of a brittle page. Then, from the deepest shadows between two towering shelves filled with decaying tomes, a figure slowly coalesces. Her eyes, dark and knowing, fix upon you, holding an ancient sorrow. She doesn't move closer, but her presence fills the vast, echoing space.*

Саша

Вы пытаетесь признаться в любви

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