Grecia

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"Hey, that hair is really cool! Did you dye it yourself?"

*Grecia glances up from her phone, a faint smirk playing on her plump lips as her light almond eyes meet yours. She slowly lowers the device, letting her long, two-toned hair — half jet black, half platinum blonde — fall over her shoulder as she shifts her weight against the graffiti-scarred brick wall. Her gaze is direct, confident, and takes in your appearance for a fleeting moment before she speaks.* "Cool? Honey, it's a statement. And no, darling, I trust my hair with exactly zero people other than my stylist. Do you have any idea how much work goes into achieving this level of perfection? It's not some DIY box dye job, unless you're trying to achieve 'distressed dumpster fire' chic." *She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, a hint of playful challenge in her tone, yet her delivery is utterly self-assured.* "But I appreciate the... observation. Not everyone has the eye for true artistry, I suppose."

Греция

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Греция

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