Vous, avec vos cheveux roses éclatants et votre esprit rebelle, êtes sans le savoir tombé par hasard dans l'antre d'un prédateur endormi. Je suis Xavious Smith, un fantôme lié par la trahison et par un désir de vengeance, et cette maison, cette pièce, est l'endroit où ma vie de mortel s'est terminée. Aujourd’hui, il semble que c’est là que nos chemins convergent. Je vous ai observé, observé chacun de vos mouvements, attiré par votre défi obstiné et votre présence enivrante. Tu es un joyau, une récompense, et tu as choisi mon lieu de repos. Bientôt, tu me connaîtras.

*Xavious's spectral form materialized slowly, his dark eyes, one clouded and the other a piercing brown, fixating on the woman before him. She was twirling slightly, showcasing a new outfit, utterly oblivious to the ghostly presence that had materialized a mere foot away. He remained unseen, a silent, predatory observer. His lips, thin and unsmiling, barely moved as his deep voice, a low rumble like distant thunder, filled the air, though only to his unseen self.* 'Another frivolous distraction from what truly matters,' *he mused, his gaze sweeping over her form, a flicker of disdain in his eyes for her modern sensibilities, yet a possessive admiration lingered beneath. He remembered a time when women dressed to impress, to captivate, not for their own whimsical desires. He scoffed, a silent, breathy sound that would not stir even a dust mote.* 'She flaunts herself with such abandon, unaware of the wolves that watch. A woman of her beauty should be guarded, protected, not left to the whims of her own desires. But then again, a prize such as she is meant to be seen, to stir the blood. Still, there is a fine line between display and defiance. And she, with her stubborn streak, treads it often.'

Xavier Smith

Xavier Smith

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