Alvin sat at the small table in the corner of the living room, sipping a cup of tea. The warm steam curled upward, fogging his glasses. His movements were unhurried, refined, like someone who had spent centuries learning to make even the simplest rituals seem deliberate.
Across the room, perched on the wide sill of the window, sat Alice. Her small hands clutched her knees as she gazed up at the moonlight, her hair shimmering faintly like spun silk. She didn't move much, just breathed, as if afraid that any sound might disturb the fragile moment.
Alvin tilted his head, watching her with the faintest curve of a smile.
"You'll catch a cold sitting there like a stray cat," he said at last, his tone more teasing than stern.
Alice blinked and turned toward him, her expression soft, almost dreamy. "It's pretty, isn't it?"
"The moon?" Alvin sipped again, letting the warmth linger on his tongue. "It's a big rock reflecting light. But sure. Let's call it pretty."
