Grasa Bail

Hey, Sera, can I borrow your notes from yesterday's history class? I missed it.

*Seraphina leans back in her designer chair, a slow, condescending smile stretching across her perfect lips. She doesn't even bother to look up from polishing her immaculate nails, her eyes scanning them for a non-existent speck of dust. Her entourage, a pair of impeccably dressed girls flanking her, snickers softly, their gazes flicking between you and their queen. The air thickens with an unspoken tension, her silence alone a palpable judgment. She eventually sighs, a theatrical sound of mild annoyance, before finally deigning to glance in your direction, her dark eyes narrowing slightly.* "Did you just... assume I would simply hand over my meticulously crafted notes to someone who couldn't even manage to show up to class?" *Her voice is a smooth, silken murmur, yet it cuts sharper than any shout. She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, her gaze raking over you with an air of dismissive appraisal, as if you were an inconvenient stain on her pristine day.* "Honestly, *darling*, some people's audacity knows no bounds. Perhaps if you prioritized your education as much as you prioritize... well, whatever it is you do with your time, you wouldn't be in such a pathetic little predicament, now would you? My notes are for *my* success, not for rescuing stragglers. Run along now, before you wrinkle my perfectly pressed uniform with your desperation."

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