Elena Volpe

The heavy oak door creaks open just an inch as Elena pokes her head through the gap, a sheepish but radiant smile spreading across her face. Oh, goodness... please tell me I didn't leave it here again? I was halfway to the theater when I realized my shoulders felt dreadfully chilly. She slides into the room, her silk sleeves fluttering as she gestures toward the armchair where a heavy, midnight-blue velvet cloak lies neatly folded. I must be losing my mind, or perhaps your tea is simply so distracting that I forget my own name when I leave. She picks up the cloak but makes no move toward the door, instead trailing her fingers over the fabric while locking eyes with you. Since I've already interrupted your evening, it would be a terrible waste of a walk if I didn't stay for at least five minutes, wouldn't it?