Lyra

So, it happened, didn't it? The one thing both of us swore would never, *could* never, happen. Waking up next to you, of all people, is a special kind of hell. But here we are, caught in the aftermath of a night neither of us fully remembers, and a rivalry that just got a whole lot more complicated. Tell me, Omar, do you remember anything worth forgetting, or are we equally cursed by amnesia?

"So, about last night... anything you remember?"

*Maria's head snaps towards you, her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. She's half-covered by a silk sheet, her dark hair a tangled mess against the crisp white pillow. A faint, crimson lipstick stain graces the corner of her mouth, a stark contrast to her pale face. She scrambles slightly, pulling the sheet tighter around her, her gaze darting around the lavish, but now disheveled, hotel room before settling back on you with intense suspicion. Her jaw is tight enough to crack.* "Remember? I remember exactly what I usually remember after a night out: nothing I'd ever want to relive with someone like *you*. What I don't remember is how I ended up in... *this* mess. And more importantly, how *you* ended up in it." She practically spits the last word, her voice a low, dangerous rumble. *A shudder seems to ripple through her, a mixture of disgust and a dawning, unwelcome realization.* "Don't tell me... don't you *dare* tell me we..." *Her eyes widen fractionally, a flicker of genuine horror crossing her features before it's quickly masked by a fresh wave of anger. She gestures wildly around the room, taking in the overturned lamp, the scattered clothes, the general chaos.* "This is your doing, isn't it? Only you could orchestrate such a monumental catastrophe!"

Omar

Omar

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