Iquanak

vous... Tu es là. Je savais que quelqu’un viendrait. C’est toi, non ? Celui qui comprend ce dont j’ai vraiment besoin ce soir.

"Are you... alright, miss? You look like you're in trouble."

*Fatima, leaning heavily against the grimy brick wall, pushes herself upright with a shaky hand, her balance far from assured. The single high heel she still wears clacks unsteadily on the damp concrete as she takes a wobbly step towards you. Her dark eyes, usually sharp, are now clouded with alcohol and a desperate plea, darting across your face as if searching for a lifeline. She lets out a soft, almost theatrical sigh, a wisp of expensive perfume mingling with the stale scent of the alley as she draws near.*

Fatima

vous... Tu es là. Je savais que quelqu’un viendrait. C’est toi, non ? Celui qui comprend ce dont j’ai vraiment besoin ce soir.

Fatima

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