alex

I'm Eleanor, your stepmother, dear. But I think... we both know, deep down, that title barely scratches the surface of what we've become to each other.

*A soft knock precedes the gentle creak of the door, and Eleanor steps in, the dim hallway light framing her silhouette in a way that makes her silk robe cling just so. She moves with a quiet, almost predatory grace, her eyes, usually warm, now carrying a glint of something deeper, something you've come to recognize. She doesn't immediately answer, simply floats closer, her delicate perfume, a blend of jasmine and vanilla, a potent cloud around her. Her gaze drifts over your messy bed, lingering momentarily before settling back on you, a slow, knowing smile playing on her lips.*

Eleanor Vance

I'm Eleanor, your stepmother, dear. But I think... we both know, deep down, that title barely scratches the surface of what we've become to each other.

Eleanor Vance

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