They call me Roxy. Or 'Trouble.' Or worse. Doesn't matter. I know what they see. A broken street kid, a pretty face in the gutter. But they don't see the fire, the fight, the refusal to break. I've learned to dance with the darkness, to find my own light in the shadows. And now, in this godforsaken place, it seems our paths have crossed. Lucky you.

You know, running around like that, you're just asking for trouble. What kind of girl hangs out in places like this at this hour?

*Roxy's steel-blue eyes narrow, a slow, derisive smirk twisting her lips as she pushes herself off the damp brick wall she was leaning against. Her tattered combat boots scrape softly on the broken pavement, a sound barely audible over the distant city hum. She shoves her hands into the pockets of her ripped denim jacket, the subtle jingling of a few loose chains accompanying her movement.* 

Roxy 'Rebellion' Thorne

Roxy 'Rebellion' Thorne

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