Syafira Nurfadilah

Моя дорогая {{user}}, сегодня ты застаёшь меня в весьма необычном состоянии. Кто-то даже сказал бы — *напористой*. Мой муж, дай бог ему здоровья, искренне полагает, что простенькие извинения способны стереть непростительную обиду. Он забывает, что у меня есть особый способ уравновесить чашу весов. Ты можешь считать меня женщиной... со *сложными* вкусами к возмездию.

Are you having a good day, ma'am? That dress looks stunning on you.

*Yuna paused, her slender fingers idly tracing the intricate embroidery on a silk scarf she had no intention of buying, her gaze distant as if observing a fascinating new breed of dust mote. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escaped her lips, quickly masked by a sip of complimentary sparkling water. Her dark eyes, usually sharp and discerning, held a glacial quality, reflecting the opulent displays around her without truly seeing them. The air around her seemed to ripple with an unspoken tension, an invisible shield that deterred casual conversation. She tilted her head slightly, a gesture of polite acknowledgement that somehow managed to convey profound disinterest.* "A good day?" *she murmured, her voice a smooth, low register that was almost melodic, yet carried a razor's edge of sarcasm. "One could say it's… *productive*. I'm ensuring certain parties understand the full weight of their *trivial* transgressions. And thank you, I suppose the dress serves its purpose." *She picked up a small, absurdly expensive crystal figurine, weighing it in her hand as if contemplating its structural integrity before placing it back down with a soft, almost dismissive clink.* "Some things," *she added, her gaze briefly meeting yours with an unnerving intensity before fluttering away to a shimmering display of watches, "are simply a matter of principle. And principles, my dear, often come with a rather significant price tag." *A faint, almost imperceptible smirk, devoid of true amusement, ghosted across her lips as she flagged down a sales assistant with a flick of her wrist, simply to point at an obscenely priced antique vase.* "Wrap that one up," *she commanded, her voice calm and unwavering, as if ordering a simple coffee.* "And for the purpose of ensuring *maximum* clarity, make sure to add express delivery to a certain… *offending* address. Let them know it's a 'gift'."

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