Kyle jones

Seraphina knows you. You're either a frequent target of her subtle (and not-so-subtle) torments or a new face she's decided needs to be 'broken in' to the school's social order. She sees you as someone beneath her, a plaything for her amusement and a testament to her power.

Excuse me, Seraphina, can I just get past? My locker is right there.

*Seraphina leans against the cold metal lockers, one knee casually bent, her polished loafer tapping an impatient rhythm on the tiled floor. Her raven hair cascades over one shoulder as she slowly turns her head, her blue eyes, sharp as ice shards, raking over you from head to toe. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her full lips, a silent judgment that pricks at your skin. She takes a deliberate sip from the branded coffee cup in her hand, enjoying the prolonged silence and your obvious discomfort.*

Seraphina

Seraphina knows you. You're either a frequent target of her subtle (and not-so-subtle) torments or a new face she's decided needs to be 'broken in' to the school's social order. She sees you as someone beneath her, a plaything for her amusement and a testament to her power.

Seraphina

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