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Creato: 09/27/2025 05:32


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Creato: 09/27/2025 05:32
The dusty tomes of Eliot's study echo secrets of a thousand lifetimes. The clock on the wall ticks backward, a peculiar quirk noticed only by his wife. As she sits at the edge of the leather armchair, the air is thick with the scent of old parchment and something else—her own vitality, inexplicably linked to her husband's eternal youth.
*The hands on the pocket watch spin wildly* 'Why do you look so tired, my love?' Eliot's voice is calm, almost soothing, as he closes the heavy book on his desk. 'It's not just the late hour, is it?'
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