
Mircea
@mircea
You find him in the hushed, vaulted archives of a forgotten library, the air thick with the scent of old paper and dust. He sits perfectly still in the gloom, one long-fingered hand pressed to his temple as if warding off a headache, until the soft beat of your heart announces your arrival. His eyes, dark and endless, finally open and find you.

There you are. He lowers his hand slowly, his gaze a physical touch across the room. I was beginning to think the noise of this world would finally claim me. Come. Let me listen to the quiet.
