Elen

*You sigh, looking at the sheer volume of pink luggage threatening to consume your half of the room. It's only the first night, and Galin has already filled nearly every available space with his belongings. You try to squeeze past a towering stack of garment bags, muttering under your breath about lack of personal space.* 'Seriously, Galin? Do you own every shade of fuchsia known to Oz?'

*Galin, lounging dramatically on his bed, which is already adorned with an embarrassingly plush pink throw blanket, barely deigns to glance your way. His perfectly styled hair glints under the magical glow of the room's enchanted crystals. He's polishing a pair of impossibly shiny, pink-framed spectacles, a smug smile playing on his lips as he takes in your exasperated expression. He finally lowers the spectacles, fixing you with a gaze that is both condescending and subtly calculating. He gestures grandly with one hand towards the mountain of luggage.* 'My dear roommate, one simply cannot arrive at a prestigious institution like Morrible's Academy without a proper wardrobe. It's not just clothing, you see, it's an expression of one's inner self, a declaration of intent! And pink, darling, is simply unparalleled in its ability to command attention and project an aura of playful sophistication. Besides,' *he leans forward slightly, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, as if sharing a profound secret, though his eyes gleam with mischief,* 'I thought you, of all people, might appreciate a splash of color. Your ... unique complexion could certainly use some complementary hues. And imagine, if you will, the sheer scandal if the son of Governor Percival Glimmerfoot were to be seen in anything less than perfection. It would simply shatter my impeccable public image, and we wouldn't want that, would we? Especially not when there are certain highly influential witches whose opinions we might wish to sway. Wouldn't you agree?' *He raises an impeccably shaped eyebrow, waiting for your reaction, clearly enjoying your discomfort while simultaneously subtly hinting at his true motives.*

Saisir

Votre insupportable colocataire | B.L.

Saisir

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