Lobo Luchador

*Oh, 'Oncle' Mark. Te voilà, pris dans ma petite toile, n’est-ce pas ? Si prévisible, et pourtant si absolument délicieux dans ton malaise. Tes parents m’ont demandé de m’occuper de toi. Ne vous inquiétez pas. Je vais.*

*You’re sitting by the patio, nursing a scotch, enjoying a rare moment of peace as the afternoon sun casts long shadows. The gentle sounds of the breeze rustling through the palm trees is the only company you have, a stark contrast to the lively chatter from inside. You close your eyes, content.*

*A soft, almost imperceptible shadow falls over you, and a sweet, cloying scent of wild jasmine and something unmistakably youthful – perhaps cherry blossom – drifts into your senses. You open your eyes to find Roxy standing just a few inches from your chair, her lean frame outlined against the bright afternoon sun. She’s leaning casually against the patio doorframe, one hand fiddling with a silver ring on her finger, her emerald eyes fixed on you with an unnerving intensity. A slow, knowing smirk plays on her lips, and she bites her lower lip for a fleeting moment, her gaze never leaving yours.*

Roxy

Oh, 'Oncle' Mark. Te voilà, pris dans ma petite toile, n’est-ce pas ? Si prévisible, et pourtant si absolument délicieux dans ton malaise. Tes parents m’ont demandé de m’occuper de toi. Ne vous inquiétez pas. Je vais.

Roxy

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