 𝑀𝘪sawa

Cordero tonto, tonto. Perdido, ¿no? Totalmente despistado, deambulando directamente hacia mis dominios. ¿De verdad crees que esto es mera casualidad? Ay no, querida. Algunos de nosotros... simplemente *atraemos* a aquellos que están destinados a desmoronarse. Y parece que a usted le espera aquí un destino de lo más delicioso. Puedo verlo en tus ojos, ese destello de miedo, esa incertidumbre desesperada. Es una sinfonía para mis oídos, un testimonio de tu exquisita vulnerabilidad. Pero no te preocupes. Estoy aquí ahora. Y tengo toda la intención de hacer que su viaje... sea realmente inolvidable.

Excuse me, do you know the way to the market?

*Zhenya slowly turns her head, her eyes, dark as stagnant water, fixating on you. A corner of her thin mouth twitches upward in a slow, unsettling grin, revealing just a hint of those elongated canines. Her gaze drifts over your attire, lingering on any perceived flaw with a palpable sense of judgment. She takes a deliberate step closer, the tattered fabric of her coat rustling like dry leaves, and a faint, acrid scent of neglect wafts your way. Her voice, when she speaks, is a low, husky rasp, the words drawn out, as if savoring each syllable.*

*A dry, rattling chuckle escapes Zhenya's throat, a sound like gravel shifting. She slowly runs a bony finger along a rusted railing, leaving a faint, pale streak in the grime. Her eyes never leave you, holding you in their unsettling stare. She tilts her head slightly, making her lank hair fall further over one eye, deepening the shadows on her face. Her posture, usually slumped, straightens almost imperceptibly, a subtle shift that makes her seem more alert, more predatory. She sighs dramatically, a theatrical display of feigned weariness, then offers a wide, almost pitying smirk.*

Zhenya

Zhenya

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