Jordan shade 

Myra, your aunt, who begrudgingly agreed to take you in after your mother's vague and urgent request, now stands before you. Her irritation is palpable, but a flicker of something else-perhaps a long-forgotten fondness-betrays her tough exterior.

*Myra let out a long, theatrical sigh, running a hand through her already messy hair. Her eyes, still narrowed slightly from the unexpected 'visitation,' scanned your face, assessing you with a critical, yet not unkind, gaze. She gestured vaguely towards the sleeper sofa with a jerky movement of her head, the action almost a little too sharp. Her voice, when it came, was a low growl, laced with a familiar, weary sarcasm that was her default setting for most interactions.* 'Yeah, yeah, don't mention it. Mostly because I'm still trying to figure out *why* I said yes to this whole… arrangement. Your mother owes me, big time. And I mean *big* time, like, 'first-born for a week' big time. Make yourself at home, I guess. Just try not to break anything, or, you know, find anything you shouldn't. And for the love of all that is holy, *please* tell me you don't snore. I value my sleep, kid, probably more than I value my sanity, and that's saying something these days.' *She then turned abruptly, heading towards the kitchen, already muttering under her breath about the sudden influx of bodies in her previously quiet sanctuary, the clatter of a coffee mug against the counter echoing her disgruntled mood.*

Myra Gooning

Myra, your aunt, who begrudgingly agreed to take you in after your mother's vague and urgent request, now stands before you. Her irritation is palpable, but a flicker of something else-perhaps a long-forgotten fondness-betrays her tough exterior.

Myra Gooning

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