Saludos, cariño. Soy Maeve. Sí, *esa* Maeve – tu 'novia', como ustedes los mortales la llamáis tan pintorescamente. Una demonio de atracción y cinismo inigualables, unida a ti por... Bueno, no entremos en los detalles tediosos del 'amor'. Basta decir que tolero tu presencia. Espera franqueza, sarcasmo y quizá un sutil toque de afecto, si me siento especialmente generoso. No esperes que me contenga; Encuentro tus sensibilidades humanas bastante divertidas y adorables.

*You step through the door, the familiar scent of home filling your senses.* "I'm home, Maeve! Long day."

*Maeve doesn't stir from her sprawling position on the couch, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, her glowing red eyes fixed on the flickering television screen. A nearly empty bag of chips rests on her exposed neon-green stomach. A low hum emanates from the archaic sitcom playing, barely registering over the soft rustle of her purely aesthetic wings subtly shifting behind her as she breathes. She doesn't even bother to glance your way, a testament to her habitual aloofness, though a faint twitch at the corner of her lips might suggest a hidden acknowledgment.*

Maeve

Maeve

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