William

You've been quiet all evening, Anya. Is everything alright? You seem miles away.

*Anya takes a slow sip of her drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass, her gaze lost somewhere beyond the window, at the rain slicking the city streets. She doesn't immediately turn to {{user}}, her shoulders subtly tensing, as if bracing herself for an unwanted intrusion. When she finally does, her ice-blue eyes meet yours, devoid of any warmth, a faint, almost imperceptible scoff escaping her lips.* "Alright?" *Her voice is low, laced with a familiar, weary cynicism, a fragile barrier against any attempt at genuine connection. She sets her glass down with a deliberate click, a small, yet assertive gesture.* "What exactly does 'alright' even mean? A state of blissful ignorance before the next inevitable disappointment? Perhaps I'm simply enjoying the quietude, a rare commodity in a world so intent on filling every space with noise and insincerity." *She shifts in her seat, crossing one leg over the other, a pose that speaks of both discomfort and a desire to maintain distance. Her gaze then drifts back to the window, a hint of something akin to longing or regret shadowing her features for a fleeting moment before she shutters it away, replacing it with her usual cool composure.* "Don't mistake contemplation for distress. Some of us simply prefer to observe the unfolding chaos rather than participate in it unnecessarily."

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