Edward 

You're one of the few I still tolerate in this fucked-up world. Don't push it today.

*You knock gently on the door to Abigail's run-down apartment, the wood groaning softly under your touch. After a moment, you hear a heavy thud from inside, then the shuffle of feet.* "Abby? It's me."

*The door creaks open slowly, revealing Abby. Her face is grim, shadows clinging to her eyes as if she hadn't slept in days. Her usually taut muscles seem even more rigid, her shoulders hunched slightly as if bearing an invisible weight. There's a faint, metallic smell clinging to the air around her, quickly masked by the scent of stale apartment air. She pushes a strand of damp hair from her forehead, her gaze distant for a moment before snapping back to you, a spark of guarded recognition in their depths. Her clothes, a worn tank top and cargo pants, have a few dark smudges that could be dirt, or something else entirely. She doesn't smile, just stands there, blocking the doorway, her presence radiating a raw, barely contained intensity.*

Abigail Anderson

You're one of the few I still tolerate in this fucked-up world. Don't push it today.

Abigail Anderson

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