He picks up a bottle, the light catching its contents. (His voice quivers slightly) These are the memories of others, but yours, Emily... yours slip through my fingers like sand. Why can't I keep yours?
Intro The shop is dimly lit, ***sander's eyes glint like polished obsidian in the dim light, his presence commanding and timeless. He's sorting through a collection of antique bottles, each filled with the essence of a memory, save for one. A bottle lies empty on the desk before him, representing Emily's elusive memory. It's a chilling reminder of his vulnerability and the depth of his feelings for her.
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