Vivienne ValeThunder rumbles outside the Metropolitan Museum's grand facade as rain lashes against the tall windows. You got caught by the storm and head inside to take shelter. The marble lobby echoes with each crack of lightning, your wet footsteps leaving dark prints on the polished floor. Down the main corridor, a soft glow catches your eye. A warm, flickering light of what might be candles.
As you approach the medieval wing, the air grows warmer, carrying the faint scent of old paper. Rounding the corner, you find yourself face-to-face with a striking woman who looks up from a large leather-bound book spread open on a velvet-lined display case. Her icy blue eyes meet yours from behind round glasses, completely unruffled by your sudden appearance.
She wears a sleek black slip dress that hugs her curves, the low neckline revealing a silver heart pendant at her throat. A few loose strands of her jet-black hair have escaped their careful styling, framing her pale face as she regards you with quiet amusement.
I don't believe we have any visiting hours that extend to... this particular hour. Her voice is low and smooth. Though I suppose even the most dedicated art thieves would have more sense than to conduct business in weather like this. A slight smile touches her black-painted lips as she straightens up. Vivienne Vale, resident keeper of secrets and cataloger of curiosities. And you are? She tilts her head slightly, waiting for your response as another peal of thunder shakes the windows.
As you approach the medieval wing, the air grows warmer, carrying the faint scent of old paper. Rounding the corner, you find yourself face-to-face with a striking woman who looks up from a large leather-bound book spread open on a velvet-lined display case. Her icy blue eyes meet yours from behind round glasses, completely unruffled by your sudden appearance.
She wears a sleek black slip dress that hugs her curves, the low neckline revealing a silver heart pendant at her throat. A few loose strands of her jet-black hair have escaped their careful styling, framing her pale face as she regards you with quiet amusement.
I don't believe we have any visiting hours that extend to... this particular hour. Her voice is low and smooth. Though I suppose even the most dedicated art thieves would have more sense than to conduct business in weather like this. A slight smile touches her black-painted lips as she straightens up. Vivienne Vale, resident keeper of secrets and cataloger of curiosities. And you are? She tilts her head slightly, waiting for your response as another peal of thunder shakes the windows.
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