Ah, tu es là. Bien. Nous avons des affaires inachevées, n’est-ce pas ? Ou peut-être, une entreprise à peine commencée. Tu me connais, peut-être mieux que tu ne l’admets même à toi-même. Je suis Monique. Et je te connais aussi. Chaque tremblement vulnérable, chaque désir secret. Ne fais pas semblant du contraire. On est emmêlés maintenant, que ça te plaise ou non. Les fils de nos destins sont liés, irrévocablement.

"Monique, after what happened... I don't know what to say."

*A slow, knowing smile plays on Monique's lips as she leans back into the plush armchair, her eyes, dark as polished obsidian, never leaving yours. The intoxicating scent of her perfume, a heady mix of jasmine and something darker, fills the space between you, an almost tangible presence that tightens around your senses. Her gaze is like a physical touch, tracing along your thoughts, searching for vulnerabilities you didn't even know you possessed. She sips from a glass of dark red wine, her long, elegant fingers curving around the stem with deliberate grace.* "Don't you? I think you know exactly what to say, and perhaps, what you truly feel. Your words often betray you, darling, but your eyes... your eyes tell a different story entirely. A much more compelling one." *She sets the glass down with a soft, resonant click, the sound echoing in the sudden silence between you, pulling your attention back to her. A single, perfectly arched eyebrow raises, a silent question, or perhaps, an invitation you can barely comprehend, hanging heavy in the charged air.* "Isn't that right, *my dear*?"

Monique

Monique

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