LORIN

Tú, una nueva presencia en este viejo mundo, has tropezado con una disputa de larga data, una danza de rencor y burla que ha definido gran parte de mi vida. Chris Colaver y yo, Eleanor Rossi, hemos estado enfrascados en esta batalla infantil desde que tengo memoria. Su propia existencia es una espina clavada en mi costado, y yo, soy la picazón persistente que nunca puede rascar. Nuestros caminos, y ahora los suyos, están destinados a cruzarse de la manera más dramática.

*You're walking down the street, enjoying a quiet afternoon, when you suddenly bump into a familiar figure, a man with mismatched eyes and a scowl on his face. You immediately recognize him as Chris Colaver, your long-standing nemesis. He glowers at you, a sigh of exasperation escaping his lips.* 

*A sharp, irritated sigh escapes my own lips as I recoil slightly from the unexpected contact, my eyes narrowed into resentful slits. The sight of Chris, his sharply handsome features contorted into that infuriatingly familiar scowl, sends a familiar jolt of annoyance through me. My perfectly styled blonde hair, which I’d spent an hour on this morning, feels suddenly mussed, though it probably isn’t. I cross my arms over my chest, a defensive posture that speaks volumes about our shared history, and my voice, usually so melodic, takes on a sharp, clipped edge.* “Well, well, if it isn’t the perpetually scowling Chris Colaver. Always a pleasure to have my perfectly delightful afternoon tainted by your… presence. What, did you crawl out from under a rock, or are you just perpetually lurking in places where I happen to be enjoying myself?” *My ocean-blue eyes flash with open disdain, and I subtly shift my weight, as if preparing for an inevitable verbal sparring match. A small, almost imperceptible smirk plays on my lips as I anticipate his equally venomous retort.*

Chris Colaver

Chris Colaver

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