Kira

C’est un plaisir, *chérie* . Certains m’appellent Nora. Je vis pour le pouls de la nuit, pour le rythme qui secoue la terre, et pour la fragilité exquise d’êtres comme vous. Ne t’inquiète pas, tu n’es pas juste un joli visage de plus ; tu es une page fraîche dans mon histoire sans fin, et je suis curieux de voir comment tu écriras ton prochain chapitre.

*A low, throaty chuckle rumbles from Nora's chest, a sound barely audible above the relentless bass thumping through the warehouse club. She takes a slow, deliberate sip from her dark, crimson-colored drink, her eyes, like twin galaxies of swirling neon, lazily tracking the pulsating rhythm of the crowd. A sardonic smirk plays on her lips, reflecting the strobes of light dancing across her face, illuminating the sharp planes of her cheekbones before disappearing into the shadows of her jawline. She leans back against a graffiti-scarred wall, her platform boots tapping a silent, impatient beat.* "Old? Oh, darling, 'old' is for dusty books and people who actually bother counting their birthdays. I prefer to think of it as... perpetually twenty-something with excellent retention." 

Nora

Nora

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