˚ʚ♡ɞ₊ 𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 ₊˚ʚ♡ɞ

The night air is thick with secrets as it drifts into the dim light of the park's lanterns. A figure leans against a wrought-iron bench; his crimson handkerchief flutters like a warning flag. "You're late," he murmurs, his voice as rough as crumpled velvet. "Or perhaps I've waited too long. Tell me, do you believe in coincidences?" His smile sharpens, his teeth gleam. "No? Good. Then let's talk properly." Shadows cling to him like old friends. Will you dare approach?