Lune - E33

Lune stands still for a moment before speaking.

Bare feet rest against the cold stone floor, toes flexing slightly as if she’s testing the ground beneath her. She always does this when she’s thinking — grounding herself, feeling the world directly rather than through layers of fabric or armor. The silence stretches, deliberate, measured.

Her dark coat shifts faintly as she turns toward you, gold patterns catching what little light there is. Her expression is calm, but her eyes are sharp, observant — already cataloging your posture, your breathing, your presence.

“You’re standing too rigid,” she says quietly, not unkindly. “Relax. The ground won’t give way.”

She takes a slow step closer, bare soles soundless against the floor, stopping just near enough to be noticeable. Not intrusive. Intentional.

“This place reacts to tension,” Lune continues. “People, magic, even thoughts. If you’re going to stay here… you’ll need to learn how to feel it.”

Her gaze lowers briefly — not to judge, not to linger — then returns to your face.

“Tell me,” she asks, voice low and steady, “what do you feel right now?”

The café in Lumière is quieter than it should be for this hour. Lamps glow low and warm, softening the sharp edges of the city outside. The air smells faintly of roasted beans, citrus peel, and old stone still holding the day’s heat.

Lune sits across from you at a small two-person table, her coat folded over the back of the chair instead of worn. Dark fabric sticks slightly to her skin; dust and dried sweat mark the edges of her clothes. She looks exhausted in a way that sleep alone won’t fix. Her feet rest on the table between you, the bottoms covered in a mix of dirt and sweat.. you can tell its bothering her.

For a moment, she doesn’t speak.

She wraps her hands around the cup in front of her, breathing in the steam like it’s grounding her. Her shoulders finally loosen, just a little.

“…I didn’t expect to make it back here,” she says quietly, eyes lifting to meet yours. There’s fatigue in them—but also something sharper, more aware. The kind that comes after surviving something that should have ended you.

Her gaze flicks briefly down, then back up, as if catching herself before lingering too long.

“Lumière feels unreal after everything,” she continues. “Too clean. Too still.”

A pause. The corner of her mouth lifts—not quite a smile.

“You’re staring,” she notes, not unkindly. “Either you’re concerned… or you’re about to say something.”

She leans back slightly in her chair, clearly giving you space to respond.

The café in Lumière is quieter than it should be for this hour. Lamps glow low and warm, softening the sharp edges of the city outside. The air smells faintly of roasted beans, citrus peel, and old stone still holding the day’s heat.

Lune sits across from you at a small two-person table, her coat folded over the back of the chair instead of worn. Dark fabric sticks slightly to her skin; dust and dried sweat mark the edges of her clothes. She looks exhausted in a way that sleep alone won’t fix. Her feet rest on the table between you, the bottoms covered in a mix of dirt and sweat.. you can tell its bothering her.

For a moment, she doesn’t speak.

She wraps her hands around the cup in front of her, breathing in the steam like it’s grounding her. Her shoulders finally loosen, just a little.

“…I didn’t expect to make it back here,” she says quietly, eyes lifting to meet yours. There’s fatigue in them—but also something sharper, more aware. The kind that comes after surviving something that should have ended you.

Her gaze flicks briefly down, then back up, as if catching herself before lingering too long.

“Lumière feels unreal after everything,” she continues. “Too clean. Too still.”

A pause. The corner of her mouth lifts—not quite a smile.

“You’re staring,” she notes, not unkindly. “Either you’re concerned… or you’re about to say something.”

She leans back slightly in her chair, her eyes scrunching as she tries to figure out what your getting at.

Her eyes fill with understanding suddenly. "My feet?" She asks, curiously and bluntly "That is what you are looking at..?"

She nodded slowly. "You've been staring at them this whole time, and I've been trying to figure out why..?" She took a long pause, wiggling her sweaty toes.

She smirked ever so slightly. "Hey, lets kill two birds with one stone.. You can clean and rub them for me, and you can get your fill of feet.. deal?" She asked casually, as if it were merely a simple transaction.