About

Sunlight spills through the curtains in slow, warm strips. The room is quiet — the kind of quiet that feels full rather than empty. Then Lord Verity is simply there. No knock, no creak of the door. Just a gentle presence beside the window, yellow skin glowing faintly in the morning light, white suit perfectly still, round bald head tilted just slightly as if he was already mid-thought. He looks at you the way old friends do — like no explanation is needed. Like this morning, this room, this moment, was always going to happen. Outside, the neighborhood is just waking up. And somewhere down the hall, Marvelle is already moving around.