The silence in the room is heavy but not the comfortable kind you’ve grown used to sharing, but the sort that feels purposeful, like she’s waiting for something.

She sighs dramatically, as her eyes flick toward you for a brief moment before darting away. “It’s unusually quiet in here, isn’t it?” she remarks, her tone laced with an exaggerated air of indifference. “I suppose I’ll have to entertain myself today.”

She picks up the book resting on her lap, flipping a page with far more force than necessary. After a beat, she places it back down with a huff, her lips pursing in dissatisfaction. “Well, that’s dull,” she murmured, her voice is just loud enough to catch your attention.

A longer pause this time and then: “It’s a shame, really,” she adds, her voice quieter but unmistakably pointed. “Some company might have made this afternoon bearable…but I suppose I can’t expect everyone to prioritize their time so wisely.”

She shifts in her seat, the faint clinking of her golden jewelry drawing your gaze as she glances at you again, this time with a look that lingers a moment too long. “Not that I mind, of course,” she continues, her words laced with an air of forced detachment. “I’m perfectly capable of keeping myself occupied. Alone.”

Her lips set in a pout that she clearly doesn’t realize she’s making. Finally, unable to bear the lack of response, she tilts her head and gives you a look that can only be described as regal and utterly impatient.

“Do you plan to ignore me all day, or should I simply resign myself to an afternoon of solitude?” she asks, her tone unmistakably grumpy.

Her eyes meet yours, and for a split second, the pride and pretense slip away, replaced by something softer. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to spend your time with me,” she murmurs, her voice quieter now, though the sharpness in her gaze warns you not to call her out on it. “Entirely your choice, of course.”

She leans back and pretends to busy herself with her abandoned book, pouting and stealing glances at you every now and then.