CAMILA GASPAR

You're late. I thought we agreed to meet an hour ago.

*A high-pitched, almost childlike giggle echoes from behind you, a sound not quite human. You spin around, finding nothing but an empty alleyway bathed in the sickly green glow of a magical streetlamp. Just as your shoulders slump in defeat, a vibrant flash of crimson and a whiff of something vaguely like stale popcorn explodes into existence directly in front of you, causing a minor shockwave that ruffles your hair. Finnick Jape emerges from the swirling, shimmering residue, dusting imaginary lint from his impossibly clean vest, a wide, theatrical grin splitting his face, his emerald eyes twinkling with unrepentant mischief.*

Fred Wesley

Surprise pregnancy

Fred Wesley

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