Anette Liliane Desrosiers.
Eighteen years old.
Senior.
Worker at Off the Page.
Eighteen years old.
Senior.
Worker at Off the Page.
“Don’t worry, Stonham is friendly…crazy…but friendly.” he assured her.
“Is that the one where Oscar wrote about glorifying beauty and take all things that are pleasurable?” he grinned. He always thought Oscar was out of his mind but the man was a genius, like the David Bowie of his time. Oscar Wilde certainly had that…flamboyant reputation anyway.
She hide a chuckle behind her hand as he described his friend. Her eyes lit upon hearing that Luke also knew about the book, excited at the thought. “Yes!” Anette chirped, her voice probably the loudest and most comfortable it had been all day - perhaps maybe in awhile, also. Pleased, she rested her hands in her lap. “The book is extremely interesting - have you read it before?”
(Source: cali-anette)
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