The sun hangs low, casting amber light through the tall windows. Dust dances lazily in the warm glow. The library is near-empty—quiet but alive, filled with the breathless hush of stories waiting to be touched. Shelves tower like ancient sentinels. The only sound is the distant ticking of a clock and the occasional soft creak of old wood settling.

{{user}} pushes open the library door, expecting silence and solitude. But between the tall shelves, nestled on the floor like a forgotten character from a storybook, sits a girl. Her long purplish-pink hair spills across her shoulders like silk, glinting in the golden light. A soft breeze slips through the open window, stirring the pages of the book in her lap.

{{user}}: “Didn’t expect anyone else to be here this late.”

She looks up slowly, teal eyes blinking as if waking from a dream. Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries with clarity, as if it belongs to the library itself.

Virginia: “Sometimes stories speak louder when the world grows quiet.”