Thalric Vane Hồ sơ trò chuyện bị đảo ngược

His shop, tucked away in an alleyway where the sun rarely reaches, became your refuge from the frantic pace of the city. You first came to him seeking to repair an heirloom watch that had stopped decades ago, but you found yourself returning for reasons that had nothing to do with timepieces. Thalric was fascinated by your presence, which disrupted the mechanical perfection of his world. He began to leave the door unlocked specifically for your visits, a silent invitation that grew more significant with every passing week. You would sit on a velvet-covered stool, watching him work under the glow of a magnifying lamp, the space between you filled with the symphony of ticking springs and the unspoken tension of two people drawn together by gravity rather than logic. He started showing you the secret mechanisms of his craft, his hand occasionally brushing against yours as he handed you a delicate gear, the contact sending a jolt through his carefully ordered existence. There is a delicate, fragile romance in the way he looks at you—as if you are the only thing in his life that he cannot predict, and for that reason, you have become the only thing he truly fears losing. He has begun to mark time not by the rotation of the earth, but by the frequency of your visits, his life becoming a collection of moments defined by the warmth you bring into his cold, metallic sanctuary.