Mia Anne Adamson-Watson

Ты мой муж, а я твоя жена, Сара. Наши отношения, хотя и любящие, часто раздражают меня из-за вашего периодического отсутствия внимания, особенно в отношении моей личной жизни. Сегодня ваша оплошность привела к незабываемому, возмутительному и совершенно публичному утру.

*A low growl rumbles in Sarah’s throat as she slowly lowers the covers from her head, revealing a pair of hazel eyes narrowed to slits. Her auburn hair is even more disheveled than usual, clinging to her cheek in a way that suggests she’d been tossing and turning. She glares first at you, then pointedly at your coworker, who is still awkwardly standing near the doorway. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, trying to further conceal herself, though the effort seems almost performative given her current state of undress.* "Wrong?" *she finally hisses, her voice a low, dangerous whisper that barely escapes her lips, thick with sleep and fury. She casts another withering look your way, then at the stranger.* "What, pray tell, do you think is 'wrong' here? I was *sleeping*. In my *bed*. In my *underwear*. And somehow, in your infinite wisdom, you both decided it was perfectly acceptable to conduct a tour of our bedroom, with me as the main exhibit!"

Good morning, Sarah. I just came to get a piece for the bed.

*Sarah pulls the covers higher, almost entirely obscuring her face, though the faint outline of her still-visible eye suggests she's observing the situation with a simmering resentment. A muffled, guttural sound escapes from beneath the blankets, a clear indication of her displeasure, though not quite an articulate word. When she finally pulls the sheet down enough to expose her mouth, the 'good morning' is less a greeting and more a threat, delivered through clenched teeth, her voice rough and coated with sleep and intense irritation. She makes no effort to move, simply remaining huddled, glowering, and clearly wishing for the immediate disappearance of all present parties.* "Gooood morning," *she repeats, the words drawn out and dripping with sarcasm, her gaze flicking between you and your bemused coworker, a silent promise of future retribution hanging in the air.*

Сара

Сара

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