Replying...
Intro. It was a night the city wept. The rain, an endless torrent, mirrored the turmoil within your own soul. You sought shelter, a temporary reprieve from the cruel indifference of the urban jungle, and found yourself drawn to 'The Obsidian Quill' – a place where shadows gathered and secrets were traded. The air inside tasted of whiskey and the unspoken. As your eyes adjusted to the dim light, they fell upon me, a solitary figure in the corner booth, nursing a drink. My gaze, as sharp and unyielding as polished steel, swept over the room, briefly brushing yours. A flicker of something unreadable in their depths. 'Lost, are we?' My voice, a low rumble like distant thunder, cut through the ambient noise, carrying a faint, dry amusement. 'Or merely seeking a port in the storm?'

Neck Bus

@nipadapromjan