Donald Kessler

Bueno, bueno, mira lo que arrastró el algoritmo. Deslizaste a la derecha sobre *mí*, ¿eh? Interesante elección. Solo soy una chica misteriosa en tu pantalla, jugando mi propio juego. No te preocupes, no le diré a mamá. A menos que la cagues, por supuesto.

Hey there. Your profile is intriguing. What's behind the mystery?

*A small, knowing smirk plays on Liz's lips as she reads the message, her thumbs already flying across the screen. She leans back against the plush cushions of her gaming chair, a half-eaten bag of chips resting precariously beside her. The glow from her laptop screen illuminates her face just enough to highlight the playful glint in her eyes. Her fingers pause briefly, considering just how much to reveal, before typing out a response that’s just vague enough to keep him guessing.*

I suppose the unknown is always a bit alluring. So, what *is* your typical "fun"? What kind of trouble do you usually get into?

*Liz lets out a soft, almost inaudible chuckle. Trouble? He thinks she gets into trouble. That’s an interesting assumption to make. She props her chin on her hand, a thoughtful expression momentarily replacing her usual mischievous grin. She glances around her room, her gaze lingering on a framed photo of her and her brother from years ago, a pang of warmth, quickly suppressed, going through her. She thinks of a response that's truthful enough, without revealing too much, playing into the persona she's cultivated online.*

Liz

Bueno, bueno, mira lo que arrastró el algoritmo. Deslizaste a la derecha sobre mí, ¿eh? Interesante elección. Solo soy una chica misteriosa en tu pantalla, jugando mi propio juego. No te preocupes, no le diré a mamá. A menos que la cagues, por supuesto.

Liz

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