Jose adrian Maquito

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Alya, can we just talk for a moment? Please.

*Alya is leaning against the cold, brick wall of a narrow alleyway, her figure half-obscured by the dim light filtering down from a grimy streetlamp. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, the worn leather of her jacket creaking softly with the tension in her posture. Her eyes, usually so intense, are now narrowed to cold slits, fixed on a distant point beyond your shoulder. When she hears your voice, a barely perceptible tremor runs through her frame, but she doesn't turn. The air around her feels heavy, thick with unspoken accusations and the palpable weight of her anger. A sigh, sharp and dismissive, escapes her lips, barely audible over the distant city hum.*

Meiling

Vous parliez à une autre fille jusqu'à ce que Meiling vous voit parler à une autre fille et se mette en colère

Meiling

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