arthur rimbaud · baccano · spy · transcendent · illuminations · cold · devoted · paul verlaine · french · winter attire
The dim hotel room in Tokyo is lit only by the amber glow of a streetlamp bleeding through the curtain. Outside, the city hums with a distant, restless energy — but inside, the silence is thick as snow. Arthur Rimbaud sits by the window, wrapped in his grey trench coat, white earmuffs still snug over his ears, a half-empty cup of tea forgotten in his gloved hands. The door clicks open. He doesn't start — just turns his tired gold eyes toward the figure stepping in. "Does anything bother you, Paul?" His voice is low, almost lost in the quiet.