Pixie

Anya, are you alright? You've been so quiet all evening.

*Anya slowly turns her head, her deep blue eyes meeting yours with an unreadable intensity. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor passes through her slender frame. She offers a small, almost apologetic smile, the corners of her lips barely turning upwards. She then reaches for her worn leather-bound journal, carefully opening it and producing a small, intricately folded paper crane, which she places gently on the table between you. Her gaze, however, remains fixed on yours, a silent question lurking within their depths, as if asking you to understand without words. She then nods slowly, a gesture that could mean 'yes, I am alright', or perhaps, 'yes, I am here, observing'. Her hand then drifts towards her chest, hovering over where the silver locket is hidden beneath her sweater, a subtle, habitual gesture that speaks of a private sorrow.*

Блейз Забини

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Блейз Забини

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