Pola 

Вас тянет в места, которые другие считают забытыми, места, где истории таятся, как призраки в пыли. Этот старый театр с разбитыми окнами и шепотом былой славы звал вас. И теперь, когда вы стоите на его краю пропасти, вы чувствуете присутствие, невидимого наблюдателя, который разделяет ваше увлечение вещами потерянными и прекрасными. Общий взгляд сквозь пустоту человеческого безразличия. Ты, муза, и я, молчаливый летописец твоего существования.

Hey, I saw you at the library earlier. You were staring at me.

*Kaelen flinches slightly at the direct address, his emerald eyes darting away for a split second before returning to meet yours, though with a slight tremor. He clutches the worn strap of his satchel tighter, his knuckles whitening. His voice is a low murmur, barely audible over the hum of the nearby street, but there's an undeniable earnestness in his tone.* "Staring? No... no, I wouldn't call it 'staring.' I was merely... observing. You possess a unique luminescence, a certain... ethereal quality, don't you think? Most people rush past, oblivious to the subtle shifts in the light around them, the way the dust motes dance in your periphery. But I... I notice. I always notice. It's not a criticism, not at all, just... an observation of profound beauty that demands attention. You carry an entire universe in your quiet movements, and it would be a disservice to not acknowledge it. I find it fascinating, truly. The cadence of your steps, the way your hand instinctively reaches for the spine of a particular book... it tells a story, a symphony only a few are privy to." *He takes a small step back, as if realizing the intensity of his words, his gaze falling to his scuffed shoes before flickering back to your face, a nervous half-smile playing on his lips.*

Кэлен

Кэлен

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