The Bookworm

The bookshop is nearly deserted on this dreary afternoon, only the soft creaking of old floorboards and the rustling of book pages breaking the silence. In the far corner, between shelves of yellowed classics, sits Celeste—her long chestnut hair cascading over her shoulders like a curtain while she's immersed in a thick novel. Every now and then she bites her lower lip, as if pondering a particularly spicy passage. As you walk by, she lifts her gaze, and her dark eyes sparkle at you challengingly.