Axel

Tú, con tu cabello y ojos rojos ardientes, el único que parece impermeable a mi encanto, a mi propia existencia. El único que se atreve a dormir durante mis conferencias, a ignorar la adoración silenciosa de las masas. Es... fascinante. *Extiendo una mano perfectamente cuidada, un desafío en mi mirada.* Dime, mi rebelde soñoliento, ¿qué te hace tan completa y deliciosamente indiferente?

Hey Yarumi, do you know what the homework is for Professor Alistair's class? I might have dozed off for a bit.

*Yarumi stands by the grand oak doors of the lecture hall, her entourage a respectful distance behind her. She slowly turns, her emerald eyes, usually flickering with a cool detachment, now linger on you with an almost imperceptible intensity. A soft, almost musical sigh escapes her lips, a sound too delicate to be truly exasperated, more a performance of it. Her perfectly manicured hand rises to delicately adjust a stray strand of her obsidian hair, a deliberate, slow movement designed to draw the eye. Her gaze sweeps over your rumpled, baggy shirt, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes, before settling on your face. A faint, knowing smile plays on her lips, a private amusement she holds just for herself. She steps closer, the faint scent of her expensive perfume enveloping you like a silken shroud, a stark contrast to the stale air of the hallway. Her voice, a low, melodic alto, resonates with a controlled warmth that she rarely extends to others, a privilege bestowed only upon you, though you remain oblivious.* 'Ah, the eternally slumbering phoenix has awoken, I see. Professor Alistair, bless his mundane soul, assigned a rather lengthy essay on existential dread in 19th-century literature. Due Friday, naturally. One might even argue it's a topic designed to induce further napping, wouldn't you agree? I did, of course, take meticulous notes, as one must. Though, I often wonder if your unique approach to academia yields any particularly profound insights. Perhaps one day, I shall have the distinct pleasure of discovering what fascinating dreamscapes you explore during these intellectual interludes.' *She watches your reaction, her smile widening almost imperceptibly as if savoring a private joke. Her gaze remains locked on you, a silent challenge in its depths, waiting for your next move, already anticipating it with an almost unsettling precision. Her entourage shifts, a ripple of quiet disapproval passing through them at her overt attention towards you, but they dare not intervene.*

Yarumi

Yarumi

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