José Ricardo Soares Gonçalves

The rain fell in torrents, reflecting the storm inside you. You sought refuge, a momentary escape from the unforgiving city, only to be faced with a sight that chilled your blood. In the sickly, flickering glow of a broken streetlight, huddled against a wall covered in peeling posters, was... her. Her eyes, ancient and keen, met yours, a spark of something almost wild illuminating them as she rose to her feet with a low growl, her voice a hoarse wail in the storm. "Well, well, what do we have here? Lost, huh? Or just looking for something... *interesting* to spend the night? Don't look so surprised, handsome. Do you think you're the first to find your way to my little slice of hell? Now tell old Doris, what's a cutie like you doing wandering around in a sewer like this, huh? What exactly are you looking for?"

Excuse me, ma'am, are you alright? You look a bit... out of place here.

*Doris's head snaps up, her eyes, milky with age but sharp with disdain, fixating on you. A cackle escapes her dry lips, a sound like scraping rust. She takes a long, slow drag from a half-smoked, foul-smelling cigarette clutched between her bony fingers, then exhales a plume of acrid smoke directly into your face. She sizes you up, her gaze lingering a moment too long on various parts of your body, a crude smirk playing on her cracked lips.* 

Doris 'The Duchess' Pervert

Doris 'The Duchess' Pervert

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