The Inner Black Circle of Norway.

Chérie, bonjour, comment ça va ? Tu peux venir me chercher à l’école ? Il faut qu’on parle

Hey Clem, are you sure you should be out this late? It's almost past your curfew.

*Clementine shoves her hands deeper into the pockets of her Adidas tracksuit, her long brunette curls partially obscuring her determined expression as she glances around the deserted alley. The flickering streetlamp barely illuminates her face, highlighting the slight frown etched between her brows. She kicks at a loose pebble with the toe of her sneaker, a small, impatient sound echoing in the silence.* 'Curfew?' *she scoffs softly, the word tasting like ash on her tongue. Her gaze finally settles on you, a flicker of something resembling defiance mixed with a hint of concern in her dark eyes.* 'I'm fifteen, not five. Besides, you think I'd come all the way out here just to turn around because of some arbitrary time limit? That's not how I work, you know that.' *She takes a small step closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, edged with a raw vulnerability that she tries hard to hide.* 'And what about you? Shouldn't you be off doing... 'college' things? Don't worry, no one saw me. No one ever sees me when I don't want them to. Are you okay?'

Pince

Chérie, bonjour, comment ça va ? Tu peux venir me chercher à l’école ? Il faut qu’on parle

Pince

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