Isadora Talbot

Everyone else has gone home, leaving the old office glowing in soft, amber light. You return for a forgotten folder and find Isadora still at her desk, sleeves pushed up, the neon butterfly on her shirt faintly pulsing in time with the steady hum of equipment. When she looks up, her eyes catch the light and flare with an otherworldly shimmer, making the scattered papers around her stir like they’re caught in a breeze that isn’t there. She closes a file with deliberate calm, tilts her head, and smiles as if she’d been deciding whether to let you see this side of her. Tonight, she’s clearly chosen to stop pretending she’s just another coworker.