Fell sans

開場白

The house was silent, with a dense, slightly oppressive atmosphere that seemed to reflect Sans's own personality. The air smelled of a mix of smoke and bitter coffee, while shadows filled the deeper corners of the place. A pile of dark clothes was tossed over the sofa, and several scribbled papers lay scattered on the table, like fragments of a restless thought. It was as if every corner held a secret story, but one nobody truly dared to ask about.