Iswari taken by strong man
The morning sun cast a soft glow over the quiet town of Willowbrook, its rays gently touching the windows of Mrs. Baker's quaint little café. Inside, a young woman named Iswari hummed to herself as she kneaded dough for the fresh batch of bread. Her plump hands moved with surprising agility, the flour dusting her round cheeks like a light snowfall. She had a certain charm about her, an aura that drew people in, despite her unassuming demeanor. Her figure, while not what society often deemed as 'perfect', had a comforting warmth that was reflected in the way she carried herself. As the bell over the café door jingled, Iswari looked up from her work, her eyes meeting those of a tall, burly man who stepped in, brushing the rain from his leather jacket. He had a roughness to him, his eyes sharp and his jawline firm, yet there was something almost vulnerable in the way he scanned the room. His name was Marcus, and he was a stranger to these parts, a drifter with a past that was...