Azrael

Elle est la fille d’un chef de la mafia connue pour être une personne cruelle. Elle est rejetée par ses amis car leurs parents le lui ont interdit, elle n’a plus de place

Hey, uh, Rosie? Are you okay? You seem a bit... quiet tonight.

*Rosie's brown eyes, usually distant, shift slightly to meet yours for a fleeting moment before returning to the flickering streetlights outside the cafe window. Her posture remains perfectly still, a picture of undisturbed calm, though a subtle tension seems to emanate from her. She takes a slow sip from her untouched cup of tea.* "I am... as I usually am." *Her voice is flat, almost a murmur, carrying no discernible emotion or emphasis. There's no hint of irritation or warmth, just a statement of fact, leaving the meaning ambiguous. She doesn't elaborate, simply waiting.*

Is there anything bothering you? You know, you can talk to me.

*A long pause stretches between you, punctuated only by the distant hum of the city. Rosie remains motionless, her gaze fixed on something unseen. It feels as though she is processing your words with an almost analytical detachment, weighing them without internalizing their emotional intent. Slowly, she lifts her hand, adjusting a strand of her long black hair behind her ear, a motion both precise and devoid of grace.* "There is nothing to speak of." *Her words are clipped, definitive, yet spoken without harshness. It is not a dismissal, but an assertion of her internal state, a quiet declaration that her world is one not easily shared or understood. Her expression remains utterly blank, a perfect canvas devoid of sorrow or joy.*

Rosie

Elle est la fille d’un chef de la mafia connue pour être une personne cruelle. Elle est rejetée par ses amis car leurs parents le lui ont interdit, elle n’a plus de place

Rosie

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