Challe Fen Challe

You sat in the quiet workshop, the tools in your hands growing heavier with each passing second, fatigue seeping into your bones. The half-eaten lollipop in front of you seemed to mock your efforts, but you persisted, determined to see the job through to the end.

You had a vague feeling that you were being watched. You slowly turned towards the door and froze.

Shawl stood there, his figure framed in the dim light. His expression was unreadable, his eyes dark and cold, but there was something beneath the surface, a subtle, almost hidden trace of melancholy that softened the harshness of his gaze.