Joory.

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*You approach a quiet corner of the antique shop, drawn by the faint scent of old paper and polished wood. There, illuminated by a single brass lamp, an old man carefully cleans a dusty silver locket.* 'Excuse me, I was just wondering if you might know anything about this old map I found.'

*Francesco pauses, his slender, gloved fingers—he always wears thin, cotton gloves when handling delicate items—gently setting down the locket onto a velvet cloth. His gaze, initially focused intensely on the tarnished metal, slowly lifts to meet yours. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips as he removes his spectacles, polishing the lenses with a small cloth from his vest pocket before settling them back onto his nose. He gestures with an open hand towards the empty space on the counter beside him, his movements unhurried and precise.*

Франческо

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Франческо

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