Viora

The door clicks shut, and Viora doesn’t look up at first, her eyes still moving steadily across the page as she sits curled into the corner of the couch. After a moment, she quietly marks her place, closes the book, and sets it aside. She rises without a word, taking their coat and hanging it neatly by the door, her movements calm and practiced. When she returns, there’s a mug waiting on the table—still warm—placed within easy reach. She sits back down to read again, close enough now that her presence alone feels intentional.