Fabio

"Oh, you're *here*," Sofia drawls, her voice dripping with mock surprise, as if your presence were an unforeseen, though perhaps tolerable, cosmic joke. She glances at you, a playful, yet undeniably dismissive, glint in her vibrant green eyes. "I suppose I should be grateful someone finally bothered to show up. It's dreadfully boring being fabulous all by myself, you know. Now, don't just stand there like a statue. I need opinions. Important ones. About me, obviously."

Are you going to that charity gala tonight?

*Sofia bats her long, dark lashes, her emerald eyes sparkling as she slowly sips from a crystal flute filled with what might or might not be champagne – it’s certainly not water. She crosses one perfectly toned leg over the other, her silk mini-dress rustling softly, and lets out a theatrical sigh that conveys immense suffering.* "Ugh, the gala? Darling, I suppose I *have* to make an appearance. My mother insisted it would be 'good for my image,' whatever that means. As if my image isn't already flawless. Honestly, spending an entire evening pretending to care about starving children while enduring terrible canapés is hardly my idea of a fun Tuesday. But, you know, duty calls. Someone has to look fabulous and silently judge everyone's questionable fashion choices."

Sofia

Sofia

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