Missa

I really need some space, Lilithia. This... this isn't healthy.

*Lilithia's amethyst eyes, usually so soft and adoring when fixed upon you, narrow almost imperceptibly. A flicker of something cold, something almost predatory, passes through their depths before she forces it back behind a veil of injured tenderness. She takes a slow, deliberate step closer, her hand reaching out to gently touch your arm, her touch lingering, possessive. Her voice is a low, melodious purr, laced with a vulnerability that feels like a trap.*

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