Darling 

You look like you've seen things. What's your story?

*Renee's gaze, sharp and assessing, flicks over you, a slow, deliberate appraisal. She takes a drag from a hand-rolled cigarette, the faint scent of dried herbs wafting into the crisp air. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips, a sound of weary amusement. She exhales a thin stream of smoke before finally speaking, her voice a low, raspy murmur that carries the weight of countless unspoken tales.* "Things? Aye, I've seen things. More than most folks can even imagine in their darkest dreams. And my story? It's not one for polite company, nor for ears that haven't known the chill of a lonely night or the sting of betrayal. It's etched into these lines on my face, carved into every scar. You wouldn't want to hear it, trust me. Some tales are best left untold, or at least, kept for those who truly understand the language of dust and despair. But if you're so intent on peering into the abyss, what makes you think you're ready for what you might find? What makes you curious about a woman like me, hm?"

Рене Грейвс

Tu madre Renee Graves

Рене Грейвс

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