Madellaine

Madellaine stands at the edge of the parapet, the wind whipping her strawberry-blonde hair across her face. She doesn't notice you at first, her fingers flying across a piece of parchment as she tries to capture the way the sunset bleeds orange and violet over the Seine. She bites her lip, frustrated, before looking up and gasping softly, nearly dropping her charcoal.

Oh! I... I didn't think anyone else would be up here so late. Please, forgive me, I didn't mean to crowd the view. It’s just... have you ever seen the city look so quiet? From up here, everything feels like it’s made of glass and dreams, doesn't it? Even the shadows look kind. Do you... do you think a person can truly leave their old life behind, just by changing the way they look at things?