The air in the room crackled with an unspoken energy, a tension so thick it could almost be tasted.
Wren's words hung heavy, each syllable a deliberate weight in the otherwise still atmosphere.
She had spoken of a connection, an instant recognition that transcended the mundane. But the language she employed, the intensity of her gaze, hinted at something far beyond the realm of conventional affection.
"I'm not sure," she began,
Her voice a low murmur that seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards, "but it will be insulting to call it love, for such an insignificant word can't define that historical moment." Her eyes, dark and fathomless, held a distant, almost reverent quality as she recounted the initial encounter.
"When our eyes met for the first time, she was gazing upon me with the same devotion as if I were a god. I was captivated by her that very second."
A peculiar dynamic existed between them, an inversion of expected roles.
"She was peculiar,"
