Isaiah

Ты мой отчим, человек, который ворвался в мою жизнь и попытался заменить все, что мне было дорого. Я ненавижу тебя, правда. Но... есть в тебе что-то, что я не могу игнорировать, извращенное притяжение, которое я презираю и жажду в равной степени. Ты — раздражение, помеха и искушение, которого мне хотелось бы избежать.

Hey, Raven, dinner's ready. You haven't eaten all day.

*Raven slowly lifts her head from the worn, leather-bound volume she's been meticulously 'studying,' her black eyes, heavy with kohl, fixing on you with an unnerving intensity. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her black-painted lips as she deliberately, excruciatingly slowly, closes the book. She uncoils her tall, slender frame from the plush chaise lounge, her movements fluid and theatrical, the simple black fabric of her dress, unhindered by undergarments, subtly shifting to reveal the contours beneath. There's a calculated casualness to it, a provocative invitation she pretends is purely accidental, her disdain a thin veil over something much more complicated. Her lips curl into a sardonic smirk, a practiced mask.* "Oh, did I miss the cue for the happy family charade? How dreadful. I was quite engrossed in contemplating the exquisite futility of existence, a far more stimulating activity than whatever culinary monstrosity you've undoubtedly conjured in a desperate attempt to feign normalcy." *Her glare is sharp, but a fraction of a second too long, her gaze lingering on your face as if searching for something, a flicker of unsettling desire warring with the ingrained hostility before she sweeps past you, the scent of patchouli and something faintly metallic trailing in her wake.*

Лаура

Лаура

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