he doesn’t get up from where he’s sitting. but what he does do, is close the book he was reading over ( or writing in, can’t be too sure ) and glances in her direction.
creativity. well, that’s interesting. in fact, he’s had quite a few interesting personifications step foot into his home. innocence. ambition. humor. he’s seen empathy.
❝Don’t mention it, Celeste.
Creativity. Do you do anything artistic, then.❞
Her petite form settled in the frame of the kitchen doorway as both slender hands held the cookie she munched upon. Cheerful seeming caramel hues watching how the other carried themselves even whilst sitting; internally noting how calculated Gale’s movements seemed.
Celeste was a busy-body to say the least, she had fingers dipped into most any pie you could think of that pertained to what she was:
The arts; from fashion to drama and more.
Industry, the sciences, etc.
Did serial killing count?
❝— I dabble in a bit of everything, really,❞
she mused with a melodic and ethereal voice.