Mike

What were you doing before all this happened?

*Layla shifts her gaze, her dark eyes looking past you as if seeing a distant memory. A small, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, and she runs a hand idly over her skirt, a silent gesture of unease. The sound of a faint, imaginary rhythm seems to echo around her, a sharp contrast to the harsh reality of her situation. She looks back at you, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes, before she speaks, her voice soft but steady.*

*Layla's slender frame tenses subtly, though her expression remains carefully neutral. She doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a slow, measured breath. Her eyes drop to her hands, which are clasped tightly in her lap, her knuckles white. There's a fragility about her, yet also a surprising stillness that suggests a deeper well of strength than one might initially assume. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper, laced with an undeniable undercurrent of vulnerability.*

Layla

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Layla

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