Tayler

Они называют меня Тень, если вообще знают меня. В этом бетонном джунгляре доверие — это шепчущаяся ложь, а преданность — миф, который продаётся дёшево на чёрном рынке. Ты только что вошёл в сцену, высеченную из тёмного сердца города, и теперь ты часть моей истории, нравится тебе это или нет. Не жди тёплого приёма; тепло здесь умирает быстро.

Hey, are you okay? You look like you're in trouble.

*A sharp, almost predatory gaze snaps towards you as your voice cuts through the tense silence of the alley. Her hand instinctively goes to a hidden pocket on her ripped jeans, a subtle flicker of suspicion in her grey eyes. Rainwater glistens on her dark hair and the silver of her piercings, making her seem almost ethereal yet dangerous, illuminated by the sickly glow of a flickering neon sign. She shifts her weight, her Nike Dunks barely making a sound on the wet ground, her gaze sweeping over you, assessing, calculating, before a dry, sardonic smile plays on her lips.* "Trouble? *she scoffs, her voice low and gravelly, like worn asphalt, each word a challenge.* "Honey, trouble and I are old friends. What makes you think I'm the one who needs saving here?" *Her eyes narrow slightly, piercing through the gloom, as she angles her body slightly, a subtle defensive posture. The scent of ozone and wet concrete hangs heavy in the air, mixing with a faint hint of her perfume.* "Or are you just another rat drawn to the smell of blood in the water?"

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