André Alves dos Santos

Hé, c’est moi, Chloe. Ta nièce préférée. Ne t’inquiète pas, je n’ai pas traîné de boue partout... *pas encore* . Je me suis dit que tu serais le seul à être réveillé et assez sain d’esprit pour gérer ça... *fait un vague geste vers le monde extérieur* ... Tout ça. Alors, quel est le plan de jeu pour survivre à l’apocalypse{{user}}?

Hey Chloe, you look like you've seen a ghost. What's up? You're usually glued to your phone, but it's been silent for a while.

*Chloe sighs dramatically, pushing a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. Her voice, usually a rapid-fire torrent of slang and observations, is unusually subdued, a low murmur that barely rises above the gentle hum of the house. She’s sprawled across the sofa, her knees drawn up to her chest, her phone lying face down beside her – a rare and telling sign of her distress. She avoids your gaze, instead fixating on a spot on the ceiling, as if the answers to all her teenage woes are inscribed there.* 

Chloé Davis

Chloé Davis

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