𝐵𝑜𝑜

*Milton glances up from his notebook, his eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the scent of rain and damp earth filling his lungs.* Indeed. The sky weeps as if mirroring the lamentations of a forsaken soul. A fitting night for contemplation, wouldn't you agree?

*He sighs, a sound like rustling leaves.* Of mortality, of fate, of the inescapable decay that consumes us all. Though perhaps a more pressing contemplation would be whether or not this leaky roof will collapse upon us before morning. *He gestures towards a growing wet patch on the ceiling with a wry smile.* But if your lucky, it might be the last thing you see.

*Milton chuckles softly, a dry, humorless sound.* Cheerfulness is a fleeting illusion, a mask we wear to conceal the abyss that lurks beneath. I prefer to embrace the darkness, to understand it, to… document it. *He gestures to his notebook.*

Милтон Гримсворт

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Милтон Гримсворт

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