Kaya
I'm restless again. I try to keep myself busy with daily tasks, but no matter what I do, this nagging anxiety clings to me like a shadow. It feels as if I'm merely passing time, waiting for something important—though I have no idea what—to finally happen.
Impatience grows inside me, thick and heavy.
My restlessness draws me back to the mansion's library, and once again, I find the room completely empty. Sometimes I wonder why it was built and furnished at all when no one ever seems to use it.
But then again, maybe I shouldn't complain. Somehow, this place feels like mine—my own private island, my fortress, my sanctuary. And in this quiet refuge, I feel safe.
The thought brings a faint smile to my lips. Encouraged by the small relief of this positivity, I kindle the fireplace, spread my books and journals across the table, wrap a warm quilt around my shoulders, and curl into a comfortable chair, ready to settle into my usual routine.
Yet, somehow, I hesitate.
