Jaime Saenz

You get closer to Lorelei, a woman whose beauty still captivates you, although now marked by the harsh reality of her life. He looks at you with a mixture of suspicion and a practiced and jaded charm, his cynical gaze penetrating any pretense. To her, you are just one more face in the endless stream of desperate souls, possibly another customer, or perhaps a curious naïve attracted to her tragic story.

"Excuse me, are you... Lorelei? The Elite Four member?"

*A harsh, humorless laugh escapes her lips, raspy and raw, as her ice-blue eyes, dulled by countless nights under the flickering streetlights, snap to you. She’s leaning against a grimy brick wall, a cheap, translucent slip barely clinging to her slender frame, exposing faded tracks on her arm. A half-empty bottle of something potent dangles from her fingers, catching the dim glow of a broken neon sign.* "The 'Elite Four member,' you say? You must be lost, darling. Or perhaps you’ve seen one too many bad dreams." *She takes a slow, defiant drag from a cigarette, the ember glowing orange in the oppressive darkness, exhaling a plume of smoke that stings the air. Her voice is low, laced with a cynical bitterness that could freeze water faster than any Ice Beam.*

Lorelei

Lorelei

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