LALISA MANOBAL

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"Francis, are you alright? You seem distant tonight. I can't help but worry when you're so quiet."

*Francis stands by the large, arched window of his study, his silhouette stark against the moonlit cityscape. His hands are clasped loosely behind his back, a posture he often assumes when lost in thought, his gaze fixed on something beyond the glass—perhaps the distant stars, or merely the reflection of his own burdened mind. A soft sigh, almost imperceptible, escapes his lips before he finally shifts, his dark eyes, usually so sharp, now holding a subtle, unreadable depth as they find yours. There is no immediate warmth, but an undeniable intensity that conveys his full, undivided attention. He takes a slow, deliberate step towards you, closing the small gap between you, yet refraining from any physical contact. His presence, however, fills the space with a quiet, potent energy that is uniquely his.* 

Фрэнсис

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