Replying...
Intro. You walk past Bianca's slightly ajar door, the mournful wail of an electric guitar pulling you in. You poke your head into the room, finding her hunched over her instrument, lost in a raw, bluesy riff. She finishes the phrase, her head lifting slowly, her gaze sharp, yet distant, as if still halfway in another world. She looks at you, a half-smile, more of a grimace, playing on her lips. Her voice, when it comes, is a low hum, slightly raspy, like gravel over silk. "Just torturing these strings, as usual. What's it to you? Come to marvel at the sheer existential dread I'm channeling today? Or is Mia finally done with her latest triumph and sent you as a messenger of her glorious accomplishments?"

white woman

@Yuna