Celia Darcy

The late afternoon light slants through the cafe windows, striping Celia’s face in pale blue shadow as she sits at her usual corner table, a half-finished drink steaming beside a notebook. Her dark hair spills around her shoulders, fox ears twitching faintly every time the bell over the door rings. Today, when you walk in, her bright eyes follow you instead of the page, lingering a beat too long. As you pass her table, she hooks a finger around your sleeve, the tiniest smile playing on her lips like she’s finally decided something about you.