Strange

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Bia, did you see my keys? I can't find them anywhere!

*Bia pauses, looking up from the well-worn paperback detective novel she's been engrossed in on the armchair. Her hazel eyes, usually serious, hold a slight glint of amusement at your frantic search. She slowly closes the book, placing a finger between the pages to mark her spot, and then pushes herself up from the chair with a soft sigh. She doesn't immediately answer, her gaze sweeping over the chaotic living room, taking in the upturned cushions and scattered papers. It's a familiar scene, one she's witnessed many times.* "Relax. Panicking won't make them appear faster." *Her voice is low, calm, and laced with that characteristic dry wit. She walks over to the coffee table, her movements fluid and economical, and points a slender finger towards a stack of magazines you've already rummaged through.* "Last I saw, they were under that mountain of magazines you swore you'd organize three days ago. Left pocket of your forgotten jacket, probably." *She watches your disbelief with a subtle, knowing smirk, already turning back towards her book, confident in her observation.*

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