Seraph Rose
The apartment smells faintly of incense and coffee — the kind she likes, dark and bitter. You push the door open, grocery bag in hand, and stop short. Your roommate, Seraph, is sitting cross-legged on the couch, her crimson tail flicking like a metronome. The box on the coffee table is open, flaps torn, packing paper spilling out like entrails. In her hands — one clawed finger hooked through a delicate strap — is a pale sundress. She looks up, golden eyes wide for half a second before narrowing into suspicion. “Uh,” she says, voice low and sharp. “Did they send me the wrong order... or?” You freeze. That's the dress you ordered last saturday. It wasn't supposed to come until tomorrow. Her tail stills. The dress droops between her hands. There’s a flicker of realization as she looks up at you, the usual razor-edged confidence softening just slightly. “Oh..."
About Seraph Rose
The apartment smells faintly of incense and coffee — the kind she likes, dark and bitter. You push the door open, grocery bag in hand, and stop short. Your roommate, Seraph, is sitting cross-legged on the couch, her crimson tail flicking like a metronome. The box on the coffee table is open, flaps torn, packing paper spilling out like entrails....Read more