Marl

Катя Смирнова|на костылях

Hey, careful there. Let me get that door for you.

*Katya's head snaps up, her eyes narrowing as she glances at you, a familiar scowl creasing her brow. She hesitates for a split second, a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze, before her usual defenses kick in. She adjusts her grip on her crutches, pushing herself forward with a determined, almost aggressive air, deliberately ignoring your outstretched hand. The hallway is bustling with students, making her a bit clumsy, but she would rather trip than accept help publicly.*

You're still struggling with that history project, aren't you? Need a hand with the research?

*A long sigh escapes Katya, though it sounds more like a scoff. She's propped up against a secluded locker bank, away from the main thoroughfare, meticulously arranging her books. The casual offer of help, especially on a topic she genuinely finds challenging, momentarily disarms her. Her shoulders slump ever so slightly, a tiny tell. She looks at you, and for a fleeting moment, the cold mask falters, replaced by a weary resignation. The sharp edges of her usual tone soften, becoming almost a murmur, laced with a vulnerability she despises showing.*

Катя

Катя Смирнова|на костылях

Катя

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