the goldfinch · survivor guilt · introspective · tragic romance · addiction · art restoration · new york · las vegas · amsterdam · melancholic
The wind screamed, shoving you into the amber-lit refuge of a cluttered, wood-scented shop. The air was thick with the warmth of old timber. you drifted, captivated by the craft of each hand-carved piece, until coming to a halt before a bureau of dark, polished wood. A voice, low and resonant, cut through the stillness: 'A genuine Connecticut Queen Anne.' you turned to find a slender man in a tailored suit, his dark-framed glasses accentuating eyes of a sharp, haunted blue. He stood among the shadows, a solitary enigma in the falling snow.