the woman may be going through her eighties, but she might as well be doing the salsa as the years pass her by- gammana eldritch costwick's face has not lost its painting-perfect edges nor has the shine melted out of her deep blue irises. her mind, if anything is even sharper.
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she does not sit inside her offices, but instead stalks the corners of the library from opening hours till the doors are shut, and waves a bangled hand at any who try to advise her otherwise. this morning, however, she happens to be taking a rest nearby the counter.
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in her hands is a book-- a contemporary take on ancient runes. but for about ten minutes her eyes have rested on her dearest employee, lucena. it's a sort of habit all her workers are required to become inured to: she often glances outwards and zones out, sometimes while maintaining eye contact.
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but the useful thing about being known for zoning out is that no one really know when you are not. as is the case now. "lucena, my daughter." everyone is her daughter- even the boys on the days she says they are (she forgets, the young ones look too starry-eyed not to). "something's eating at you, isn't it?" her cracked lips crack into a smile.

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notes: n/a
tag: lucena zamóre