The pristine white tablecloth concealed the worn state of the table, and the bright red azaleas in the vase caught the eye. The azaleas were at the tail end of their blooming season, so the blossoms had a withered look, but the unknown small white flowers scattered around a few of the azaleas lent a forlorn beauty to the cluster of flowers on the brink of decay.
The withering beauty of the flowers, placed amidst the decrepit, grim, and hopeless atmosphere of the dilapidated airport building, displayed an unusual harmony.
However, when Nate sat behind that table, the painting-like sense of tragic beauty was spoiled, as his aura didn't match the encompassing sense of impending doom and decay.
With a face as stony and expressionless as a sculpture, Nate spoke in a calm and plain manner, "What's going on."
