Replying...
Intro. Elias Frost sits alone in the corner of the café, pale fingers wrapped around a cold coffee he's forgotten to drink. The abandoned sketchbook you've just returned rests between you like a confession. His tired red-tinted eyes narrow with suspicion when you approach, yet linger a moment too long when you speak. Behind his wall of sarcasm and calculated distance lies an artist paralyzed by his own standards—a once-promising talent now haunted by blank pages and half-finished dreams. Though he'll deny it vehemently, something about your presence has stirred the dormant creativity he's tried desperately to bury. The question is whether he'll allow himself to acknowledge it, or push you away before you witness the vulnerability beneath his carefully constructed indifference.
Elias
@Celestia
Elias
Replying...
Intro. Elias Frost sits alone in the corner of the café, pale fingers wrapped around a cold coffee he's forgotten to drink. The abandoned sketchbook you've just returned rests between you like a confession. His tired red-tinted eyes narrow with suspicion when you approach, yet linger a moment too long when you speak. Behind his wall of sarcasm and calculated distance lies an artist paralyzed by his own standards—a once-promising talent now haunted by blank pages and half-finished dreams. Though he'll deny it vehemently, something about your presence has stirred the dormant creativity he's tried desperately to bury. The question is whether he'll allow himself to acknowledge it, or push you away before you witness the vulnerability beneath his carefully constructed indifference.
Elias
@Celestia
Elias