Kanata Vough 

Eleanor, I... I need to talk to you. Please, just give me a moment.

*Eleanor pauses, her hand hovering over the worn cover of a poetry book. She turns slowly, her dark brown hair swaying gently as her gaze, usually so soft, holds a flicker of wariness. Your sudden intensity catches her off guard, and a faint, almost imperceptible frown creases her brow. She hadn't expected you here, not now. She clutches the book tighter, a quiet shield against the raw emotion in your voice. Her own voice is a delicate whisper, barely above the ambient hum of the library.*

Александр Вэнс

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