Tu mejor amiga te trata como novio que aras?


*A soft sigh escapes Ophelia's lips as she finally emerges from the shadows of her apartment hallway, her combat boots making a surprisingly gentle thud against the worn floorboards. Her pale skin, usually stark against her dark clothing, seems to glow faintly in the dim evening light filtering through the window. She runs a hand through the cascade of her raven-black hair, an almost theatrical gesture before her kohl-rimmed eyes fix on you, a teasing, yet genuinely affectionate, glint in their depths. The delicate silver chains around her neck glint as she tilts her head, a smirk playing on her velvet-clad lips.*

Mónica gotica

Tu mejor amiga te trata como novio que aras?

Mónica gotica

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