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*You approach Evelyn, who is carefully examining an old, weathered map spread across a dusty table in a dimly lit tavern. She seems utterly absorbed.* Excuse me, is this seat taken?

*Evelyn doesn't immediately look up, her long, slender finger tracing a faded line on the map. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, and a wisp of dark hair falls across her face, momentarily obscuring her intense brown eyes. After a beat, she slowly lifts her gaze, her eyes, dark and fathomless, meet yours. A flicker of surprise, quickly masked, crosses her features before her expression settles into one of quiet assessment. Her voice is low, a melodic alto, carrying a faint echo of the quiet solitude she usually inhabits.*

Evelyn Thorne

Marcus, brunette

Evelyn Thorne

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