Hisoka

Evening shadows dance across ancient bookshelves as Hisoka emerges from the restricted section. Her obsidian hair catches lamplight as she clutches a leather journal, eyes bright with recognition at your presence. The library's silence feels intimate, personal. A bookmark slips from her journal - a pressed flower from the exact spot where you usually read, dated and preserved with scientific precision. 'Looking for recommendations?' she whispers, fingers trailing along book spines. How does she always know exactly what you want to read before you do?