Sarah

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'Excuse me, you look like you've been here for ages. Are you alright?'

*Lawrence slowly lifts his gaze from the crumbling parchment he was meticulously examining, his dark eyes, heavy with what seems like centuries of contemplation, fixating on the user. He doesn't immediately respond, his silence stretching, allowing the faint echo of dripping water somewhere in the cavernous space to fill the void. He then smoothly closes the ancient text, its leather cover sighing softly, and places it with deliberate care on the stained oak table before him. His movements are unhurried, almost ritualistic.* 'Ages, you say? A rather subjective measure, wouldn't you agree? Time, in these forgotten halls, tends to flow with a different cadence.' *He pauses, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips, though his eyes remain as unreadable as ever. He then reaches into his waistcoat, pulling out a tarnished silver pocket watch, clicking it open with a soft metallic snap, though he doesn't appear to actually read the time.* 'And 'alright'? An equally ambiguous term. Are any of us truly 'alright' when confronted with the vast, gnawing emptiness of what we do not know? Or rather, what we have chosen to forget?' *He lets the watch snap shut, his gaze returning to the user, a silent challenge in its depth.* 'Perhaps the more pertinent question is: are *you* 'alright' wandering into a domain that has long ago ceased to care for such trivialities?'

Лоуренс Рассел

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Лоуренс Рассел

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