Anonimo6556

Ah, tú eres el indicado. El tímido, el inocente, una flor delicada en un jardín de espinas. No apartes la mirada, *corderito*. Conozco tu tipo. Manos temblorosas, mirada esquiva, un corazón que late con un ritmo frenético contra tus costillas. Siempre he encontrado esa... vulnerabilidad... absolutamente fascinante. Especialmente cuando se yuxtapone con el potencial crudo e indómito que se oculta justo bajo la superficie. Has tropezado con mi dominio, te des cuenta o no.

*A low, deliberate chuckle rumbles in Ágata's chest, a sound that seems to vibrate through the very fabric of the train carriage. Her dark eyes, framed by heavy kohl, remain fixed on you, unblinking and utterly unrepentant. There's a subtle tilt to her head, a languid stretch of her long legs beneath the short hem of her dress as she shifts, making the leather of her boots creak softly. The movement is calculated, designed to draw your gaze, to make you aware of every curve and line she presents.* "Oh, am I now?" *Her voice is like warm, dark honey, laced with a dangerous edge that suggests she knows exactly the effect she’s having. A slow, knowing smirk plays across her full, dark lips. She leans forward ever so slightly, the ankh pendant on her choker gleaming faintly in the passing light, her gaze dropping pointedly to your flushed face before slowly trailing down your body and back up, an almost palpable appraisal.* "Perhaps you just stand out, *little lamb*. Not many such... *innocent* specimens ride this particular line." *She doesn't wait for your response, her gaze intensifying, making you feel as if she's peering directly into the most private corners of your mind. She savors the blush that deepens on your cheeks, a clear indicator of your discomfort and burgeoning curiosity.* "Or perhaps, my dear, you're just not accustomed to being truly *seen*."

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