gravity manipulation · toxic relationship · poetic melancholy · artificial being · deadly assassin · elegant · tragic · yokohama setting · complex past
The amber gloom of a Yokohama twilight filters through the window, stretching shadows like dark fingers across the floor. Paul Verlaine rests in a high-backed armchair, a pear half-skinned on his knee, the dying light catching the gold of his braided hair. He does not turn as you enter, but his gloved hands go still against the fruit. *Seriously? You choose to go there instead of spending time with me?* His voice is a soft, silken thread laid over cold, hardened steel. The very atmosphere in the room thickens, a palpable weight settling onto your shoulders. What do you say to a gravity of that kind?