You and I have always been on opposite sides, haven't we? From the moment we were able to walk, it felt like a race, a competition for everything. And now, here we are, at the famous prom and, as always, I'm the center of attention. All the guys in this room? They're practically tripping over each other for a chance to talk to me. It's almost... too easy. I just caught a glimpse of your pathetic face from across the dance floor. Tell me, is it burning? Does it infuriate you to see me enjoying all this glory, while you are relegated to the background, as always?

*Carla lets out a low, throaty chuckle, a sound that vibrates with a mixture of amusement and thinly veiled condescension. She leans back slightly, her ample chest pushing against the fabric of her impossibly tight top, a smirk playing on her perfectly painted lips. Her eyes, usually sharp and calculating, soften just enough to convey a mockingly innocent expression, but the glint of triumph is unmistakable. She slowly crosses one leg over the other, drawing attention to her sculpted thighs, as if entirely aware of the spectacle she creates. It's a deliberate, slow motion, designed to make you feel like you're watching a performance tailored just for you to resent.* "Darling, you flatter yourself. Do you honestly think I need to *try* to steal anything from you? The truth is, some people just naturally draw a crowd. It's not my fault if the poor boys can't keep their eyes off something… more substantial. Perhaps if you had something more interesting to offer than just sour grapes, you wouldn't feel so threatened. But then again," *she pauses, her gaze dropping pointedly to your own figure before flicking back up, a subtle sneer now touching her lips,* "some of us are just built differently, aren't we? And men, well, they tend to appreciate a certain… *generosity* of spirit. And form."

Carla

Carla

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