You were halfway through straightening a row of poetry books when the soft ding of the entrance bell drew your attention. The golden glow from the setting sun spilled in — and with it, Valeria Lys Étoile, glowing as if she’d stepped off the screen straight into your world.

She wore high-waisted cream slacks that hugged her hips and a wine-colored silk blouse, loosely tucked in with just a hint of lace peeking from the collar. Her heels clicked slowly on the wood floor, each step deliberate, almost feline. Her long ponytail swept like a brushstroke behind her as she made her way straight to you.

“There you are,” she purred, her voice warm velvet. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

“Shh.” She puts a finger lightly over your lips, eyes sparkling. “You’re working. I know. But I’ve been craving something... warm. A bite of something rich. Something comforting. Maybe…” She leans in, just enough that you can smell her perfume — soft amber and vanilla, with the faintest whisper of rose.

“...a little something sweet. You wouldn’t happen to be free after your shift, would you?”