After the play was done, Lucen asked one of the theater staff if he could meet the playwright. They, of course, agreed and guided the group to the playwright.
The playwright was in a room with several dozen books, and in the middle of the room was a desk with a person sitting on it.
The playwright looked to be in his late twenties, though the sharpness in his eyes made him seem older in spirit. His dark auburn hair was slightly unkempt, tied loosely at the back with a leather cord, strands falling freely over a pale, ink-smudged face.
He wore a deep blue waistcoat over a high-collared shirt, its sleeves rolled to the elbows and stained with blotches of ink and soot. A pair of small, wire-rimmed glasses rested low on the bridge of his nose, clearly well-used, judging by the scratches on the lens and the tape on one arm.
Despite his youthful age, his posture was calm and composed, as if used to long hours of both study and stress.
