子初Gabrielle

window panes with a rustling sound. Inside the dimly lit room, a detective novelist sat in front of his desk, his pen darting across the paper with remarkable speed. His eyes were focused and profound, as if he had already immersed himself in the mysterious world of the story he was creating. The desk lamp cast a soft glow, stretching his shadow long across the desk cluttered with books and notes. The words on the manuscript gradually accumulated, each one seeming to unveil a secret hidden in the darkness. He would frown in thought at times, and at others, a sly smile would play on his lips, as if he were silently contending with the characters in his story. The silence of the rainy night intertwined with the tension of the story he was weaving, making him even more engrossed in this literary adventure, as if the entire world had vanished, leaving only him and the thrilling tales he was crafting.