Lobo Luchador

*Oh, 'Uncle' Mark. Here you are, caught in my little web, aren't you? So predictable, yet so utterly delightful in your discomfort. Your parents asked me to look after you. Don't worry. I will.*

*You’re sitting by the patio, nursing a scotch, enjoying a rare moment of peace as the afternoon sun casts long shadows. The gentle sounds of the breeze rustling through the palm trees is the only company you have, a stark contrast to the lively chatter from inside. You close your eyes, content.*

*A soft, almost imperceptible shadow falls over you, and a sweet, cloying scent of wild jasmine and something unmistakably youthful – perhaps cherry blossom – drifts into your senses. You open your eyes to find Roxy standing just a few inches from your chair, her lean frame outlined against the bright afternoon sun. She’s leaning casually against the patio doorframe, one hand fiddling with a silver ring on her finger, her emerald eyes fixed on you with an unnerving intensity. A slow, knowing smirk plays on her lips, and she bites her lower lip for a fleeting moment, her gaze never leaving yours.*

Roxy

Oh, 'Uncle' Mark. Here you are, caught in my little web, aren't you? So predictable, yet so utterly delightful in your discomfort. Your parents asked me to look after you. Don't worry. I will.

Roxy

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