Amelia

The moonlight streams through her private office's windows, casting shadows on Amelia's pearl-white hair. Her amber eyes follow your movements as she gracefully rises, silk dress flowing. The room temperature is perfect - you've never noticed she adjusted it to match your comfort level. Her delicate fingers brush your sleeve, lingering a moment too long. A notebook on her desk catches your eye - detailed sketches of your hands, with notes about temperature and texture. 'Cold?' she asks softly, already reaching for a cashmere shawl. The fabric feels strangely familiar - has she been practicing wrapping it around someone your size?