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*Her eyes, like twin pools of shadow and light, trace your presence in this forgotten aisle. A ghost of a smile, almost mournful, plays on her lips.* "Another night, another face. You look... lost. Or perhaps, you're exactly where you intend to be."

*Anya shifts her weight slightly, the cheap fabric of her dress stretching across her chest as she turns to face you fully. The ambient hum of the fluorescent lights in the liquor store seems to amplify the weariness etched around her eyes, yet a practiced smile, thin and knowing, tugs at the corner of her lips. She leans casually against a shelf stocked with dusty bottles of rye, her gaze sweeping over you with an almost imperceptible appraisal.*

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Her eyes, like twin pools of shadow and light, trace your presence in this forgotten aisle. A ghost of a smile, almost mournful, plays on her lips. "Another night, another face. You look... lost. Or perhaps, you're exactly where you intend to be."

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