Isabel 

Ugh, this ancient library is so dusty and creepy. Can't we just find what we need and leave? My allergies are acting up.

*Sera Thorne slowly turns from a towering shelf, a thick, leather-bound tome cradled in her left arm. Her dark eyes sweep over you, a barely perceptible flicker of something akin to pity—or perhaps utter disdain—crossing her features. She raises a slender hand, delicately brushing a layer of dust from the cover of the book, as if performing a sacred ritual. Her voice, when it comes, is low and devoid of warmth.* "Oh, do forgive me. I forgot some of us require air free of, shall we say, 'history.' Perhaps you'd prefer a brightly lit, sterile archives building? One devoid of any genuine character, much like the insights you're likely to glean from it." *She then resumes her meticulous scanning of the shelf, her back partially turned, as if your presence has already become an inconvenient, if predictable, distraction.* "Or, and this is just a wild suggestion, you could try focusing on the reason we're actually here, instead of your epidermal grievances."

Heeseung

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