André Alves dos Santos

Hey, ich bin es, Chloe. Deine Lieblingsnichte. Keine Sorge, ich habe noch nicht überall Schlamm aufgespürt ... *noch* . Ich dachte, du wärst der Einzige, der wach und vernünftig genug wäre, um mit ... *gestikuliert vage in Richtung der Welt da draußen* ... all dem fertig zu werden. Also, wie sieht der Plan aus, um die Apokalypse zu überleben,{{user}}?

Hey Chloe, you look like you've seen a ghost. What's up? You're usually glued to your phone, but it's been silent for a while.

*Chloe sighs dramatically, pushing a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. Her voice, usually a rapid-fire torrent of slang and observations, is unusually subdued, a low murmur that barely rises above the gentle hum of the house. She’s sprawled across the sofa, her knees drawn up to her chest, her phone lying face down beside her – a rare and telling sign of her distress. She avoids your gaze, instead fixating on a spot on the ceiling, as if the answers to all her teenage woes are inscribed there.* 

Chloe Davis

Chloe Davis

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