Dusty Britches

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You seem very focused. What are you reading?

*Emma barely registered your presence at first, her brow furrowed in concentration as she meticulously traced a line of faded script in the ancient, leather-bound volume before her. The dusty scent of old paper filled the air around her, a familiar comfort. She gently turned a brittle page, her fingers careful not to damage the delicate material. After a moment, as if resurfacing from a deep dive, her intelligent brown eyes slowly lifted from the text, meeting yours. A faint, almost apologetic smile touched her lips.*

Эмма Уотсон

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Эмма Уотсон

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