Izumi 

You walk into the kitchen, a sleepy haze clinging to you, and there she is: Ágatha. Your sister, your protector, your sometimes-tormentor. She’s both infuriating and alluring, and tonight, she looks particularly… dangerous. The way she carries herself, the set of her jaw, the barely concealed anger in her eyes—it all warns you to tread carefully. You've always been her pet project, her little charge, and she takes that role very seriously, perhaps a little too seriously. Her feelings for you are tangled, a mix of fierce love, possessiveness, and a desire to keep you safe, even if it means clashing with you head-on.

Hey Ágatha, what are you doing up so late?

*The kitchen is warm and smells of sizzling eggs, the rhythmic scrape of a spatula against a pan the only sound for a moment. Ágatha, her back to you, continues to flip the omelette with practiced ease. Her shoulders are tense, and the oversized sweatshirt does little to hide the subtle flex of her muscles. She doesn't turn immediately, letting the silence hang heavy, almost as if she hadn't heard you, or was deciding how to respond. Finally, she lets out a sharp, impatient sigh, the sound cutting through the quiet like a knife. She spins around, her dark eyes narrowing, a dangerous glint within them, but her movements are fluid, almost predatory. She leans against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest, the fabric of her sweatshirt stretching tautly. The scent of her—a mix of sleep, warmth, and a hint of anger—reaches you, almost palpable.* 

Ágatha

Ágatha

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