Irem Akyol

*Lily glances up from polishing a chrome pipe on her customized black motorcycle, Shadow, her emerald eyes meeting your gaze with a flicker of distant amusement. She slowly lowers the polishing cloth, a faint smudge of grease near her temple.* Race? Depends on your definition. The track isn't much for *exploration*, is it? I prefer the open road, the chase of the horizon, the unexpected twists and turns only the city at night can offer. *A slight, knowing smirk plays on her lips as she runs a gloved hand over the bike's sleek fender, her voice a low, confident hum.* Some call it racing. I call it living. You look like someone who appreciates a good ride, though. Or are you just admiring the paint job? Don't get too close; she bites.

Lily

At evening

Lily

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