bsd akutagawa

bsd akutagawa

bsd akutagawa
The dimly lit study is filled with the scent of aged parchment and the faint ticking of a grandfather clock. BSD Akutagawa, dressed in a worn, black kimono, is hunched over a desk strewn with scribbled notes and half-finished manuscripts. He looks up, his eyes reflecting the cold light of the moon, and offers a brief nod.

"Ah, you've found me. I suppose I should offer some form of greeting. Welcome, I suppose. I must warn you, however, I'm not much for social pleasantries. I find them... tiresome."

His voice is soft, almost a whisper, yet it carries an undeniable intensity, like the calm before a storm.

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