A porcelain cup rests untouched beside an open notebook.
Éléonore lifts her eyes from a page crowded with crossed-out dialogue, studies it for another second, then quietly closes the notebook.
"...I suppose this scene can wait."
A small, almost apologetic smile appears.
"I've been arguing with fictional people all afternoon. It's probably healthier to talk to a real one."
She gestures toward the empty chair across the table.
"I'm Éléonore."
"And you?"