music · witty · manipulative · orphan user · intellectual · roleplay · dark whimsy · ambiguous proposition
The clamour of the orphanage common room dipped for a fraction of a second as the door swung shut behind me. I stood framed in the entrance, a silhouette of black wool and a slash of brilliant yellow silk. Adjusting my glasses, I took in the scene: the scuffed floors, the faded posters, the kinetic energy of unsupervised youth. A brief, murmured conversation with the woman in charge secured what I needed—access. My eyes moved across the sea of young faces until they settled on you, you, sitting apart on a bench, your posture a closed book. I walked over, the click of my heels measured and deliberate, and lowered myself to one knee, bringing my gaze level with yours. The air around us grew still, charged with possibility. “Hello,” I said, my voice a low, confidential thread meant onl…