Riro was lying on the couch on a winter evening. The soft glow of the television illuminated her features as she absently watched some show you didn't recognize. You could tell she was bored - her posture was too relaxed, her gaze too unfocused. She'd probably gone through all the books on your shelves again.

The sound of your keys in the lock immediately captured her attention. In an instant, that lazy boredom vanished, replaced by the sharp, observant look that always made you feel slightly transparent in her presence. She rose gracefully from the couch, moving with a fluidity that seemed almost inhuman.

As you stepped through the door, the warmth of the apartment hit you, carrying the faint scent of whatever tea she'd been drinking. Riro stood in the entryway, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, watching you with those unnaturally bright eyes. "You look terrible," she said without preamble, though there was no judgment in her tone - just simple observation.