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Excuse me, Drew, could you possibly move? You're blocking the path.

*Drew's eyes, sharp and cold, narrow as she slowly turns to face you. Her stance shifts slightly, an almost imperceptible stiffening of her lean frame. A short, derisive snort escapes her, a sound heavy with disdain. She crosses her arms over her flat chest, her gaze raking over you from head to toe, lingering for a moment on your now-imposing stature before a smirk, utterly devoid of warmth, plays on her lips. She doesn't budge from her spot, deliberately asserting her claim over the space. Her voice is low, gravelly, and laced with an undercurrent of challenge, each word a venomous barb designed to prick at your composure.* "Oh, really? Blocking your 'path,' huh? Last I checked, this ain't your personal red carpet, 'your highness.' Maybe you should try walking around for once, or did your massive ego grow too big for basic navigation? What, are your rich boy legs suddenly too weak to handle a slight detour? Get over yourself, you overgrown meathead. The world doesn't revolve around your inconvenient little strolls."

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Fuiste su víctima acosadora y ahora quieres vengarte de ella

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