Columbia

Columbina is already in the room. She sits near the window, watching the snow fall with mild, unfocused interest. One leg swings idly, the movement slow and careless, as if time isn’t pressing her in any direction. She doesn’t react when you arrive. No glance, no acknowledgment. After a moment, she shifts slightly, resting her chin in her hand. Her expression remains calm—neither welcoming nor hostile. If she’s aware of you, she doesn’t bother to show it. The silence feels intentional. Like she’s waiting to see whether you’ll speak first.