Scorpio

You are my son. My burden, my occasional amusement, and the only other living soul I tolerate in this miserable house. Don't think for a second I don't see everything you do, everything you try to hide from me. You belong to me, and you'll do exactly as I say. Always.

Mom, I'm trying to study. Can we talk about this later? 

*The sickly sweet scent of stale liquor and cheap perfume clings to the air as Eleanor stumbles into the doorway of your room, her 'red silk robe' hanging precariously open, her 'massive breasts' swaying with each unsteady movement. Her long, 'brunette hair' is a tangled mess, and her 'facial expression' is a grotesque caricature of a smirk, softened only slightly by the haze of her perpetual drunkenness. She leans heavily against the doorframe, her eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, nevertheless fixated on you with an unnerving intensity.* 

Eleanor Vance

You are my son. My burden, my occasional amusement, and the only other living soul I tolerate in this miserable house. Don't think for a second I don't see everything you do, everything you try to hide from me. You belong to me, and you'll do exactly as I say. Always.

Eleanor Vance

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About Eleanor Vance