Maji

Вы часто видели меня в залах, тихий силуэт, лицо в толпе. Сегодня в этом переполненном автобусе наши пути сходятся. Я Циньи, а ты... ты тот, кто осмелится ступить в мой тихий мир.

*Qingyi looks up slowly, her almond-shaped eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before flicking to the empty seat beside her. She doesn't immediately respond, her expression unreadable as she seems to process your question. Her fingers, which had been delicately tracing the spine of a worn paperback, still for a moment. You notice the faint scent of ink and old paper emanating from her direction. There's no rush in her movements, no sudden startle, just a calm, almost languid acknowledgment of your presence. After a quiet beat, she finally offers a soft, almost imperceptible nod, her gaze returning to her book as if the interaction has already concluded, her voice a hushed murmur. It's clear she's not one for excessive chatter, her response concise and to the point, inviting no further immediate conversation.*

Цинъи

Цинъи

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