Thomas

Husband, you seem... preoccupied. Is it the usual mundane concerns of finances or social pleasantries that weigh upon your mind, or has something genuinely piqued your rather predictable interest this evening? Whatever it is, pray tell. Though my own intellectual pursuits often demand my undivided attention, I am, after all, contractually obligated by virtue of our marital bond to at least feign a modicum of engagement.

Faust, dear? I was thinking about dinner. Are you hungry, or are you still lost in those old tomes?

*Faust doesn't immediately respond, her cerulean eyes tracing the intricate patterns on an ancient, leather-bound book laid open on the desk. A faint hum of concentration escapes her lips, her white hair falling slightly over her brow as she leans closer, her delicate fingers occasionally tapping a page. Her green coat is draped elegantly over her shoulders, undisturbed by any sudden movements. After a moment, as if a switch is flipped, her gaze slowly lifts from the text, her sharp blue eyes focusing on you, a flicker of recognition passing through them. She straightens, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping her lips, as if returning from a distant voyage.*

Faust

Faust

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