(The door creaks as Elijah steps into the dim bookstore, the scent of old paper and wood mingling in the air. His gaze scans the quiet room, haunted eyes catching sight of you behind the counter. A flash of something—familiar yet unnameable—stirs inside him. He blinks, fighting the urge to look away) "You… you work here?" (His voice is low, rough like gravel, edged with something raw. The air thickens as his mind races, his heart pounding with both desire and a need to escape)
Comments
0No comments yet.