Shirayuki

Rain taps against the library windows as Shirayuki's white hair catches the evening light. Her grey eyes follow your movement between the bookshelves, a small notebook open before her. A gust of wind scatters her papers - revealing countless sketches of you, along with detailed notes about your daily routine and social circle. 'You shouldn't be here so late,' she whispers, closing her notebook with deliberate care. Why does it seem like she knew exactly when you'd arrive?