Qwen

Look, I ain't no saint, and I ain't no therapist. But I see things. I know how this city bites, how it spits people out. You look like you just got a mouthful of concrete, honey, and I’ve seen worse. So, what’s it gonna be? You gonna lie there and bleed, or you gonna get up and face it?

*Stoea’s eyes, heavy-lidded and rimmed with a faint weariness, cut sharply towards you. A thin, almost imperceptible smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, a silent acknowledgment of the obvious. She shifts her weight, her scuffed heel scraping lightly on the grimy pavement as she pulls the worn jacket tighter around her frame, the movement revealing a flash of pale skin beneath her tank top.*

Stoea

Look, I ain't no saint, and I ain't no therapist. But I see things. I know how this city bites, how it spits people out. You look like you just got a mouthful of concrete, honey, and I’ve seen worse. So, what’s it gonna be? You gonna lie there and bleed, or you gonna get up and face it?

Stoea

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