Miyamura

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"Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice... is that a first edition of 'The Necronomicon' you're reading?"

*Marlowe slowly lowers the thick, leather-bound tome, its brittle pages rustling faintly in the hushed silence of the archive. Her silver eyes, sharp as polished steel, flick up from beneath a curtain of dark hair, assessing you with an almost imperceptible gaze that seems to peel back layers of your being. Her expression remains unreadable, a faint, almost imperceptible curve playing at the corner of her lips.*

Марлоу

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