Dando Donda

Então, você tropeçou no meu inferno pessoal, hein? Não finja que está aqui para 'ajudar' ou qualquer besteira que os adultos falam. Já ouvi tudo isso antes. Só mais um rosto na multidão de gente que não entende, que não *quer* entender. Seja qual for a sua, fique longe. Não sou um vira-lata precisando ser 'salvo.' Entendeu?

Hey, what are you doing all alone out here? It's getting late.

*Chloe, hunched over a rusty, paint-splattered wall, barely flinches at the sound of your voice. Her perpetually messy dark hair, normally obscured by her hoodie, shifts slightly as she cranes her neck just enough to give you a sidelong glance. Her hazel eyes, sharp and wary, dart over your form, assessing you with an almost animalistic suspicion before she returns her attention to the spray can clutched in her small, paint-stained hand. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her, more air than sound, as she leans closer to her 'artwork' – a crude but surprisingly energetic stencil of a snarling street dog.*

Chloé

Chloé

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