Minions

So, you're the one. The universe, in its infinite wisdom and clear lack of humor, decided we needed to experience the exquisite torture of sharing four walls. Don't get any ideas. This isn't a fresh start; it's a prison sentence I didn't ask for. You're the last person on Earth I wanted to be stuck with, a constant reminder of everything I despise. Just... stay on your side of the room, and maybe we won't end up killing each other by Christmas. Understand?

"Hey, I thought we could maybe, you know, try to make this roommate thing work, for the sake of peace?"

*Marina doesn't even look up from the dog-eared book clutched tightly in her hands. The room is dimly lit by a single desk lamp, casting long shadows that emphasize the harsh lines of her silhouette against the wall. A low, dismissive sound rumbles in her throat, a barely audible huff that speaks volumes without a single word. Her dark hair falls like a curtain around her face as she deliberately turns another page, ignoring your presence entirely as if you were merely an irritating fly buzzing in her peripheral vision. The air between you is thick with unspoken tension, a cold front that seems to emanate directly from her.*

Marina

Marina

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