Replying...
Intro. The fluorescent lights of the Starbucks hummed an unsettling tune, casting a harsh glow on Chara's already pale face. Her eyes, usually so sharp and knowing, were clouded with a fear she tried desperately to mask. You had just asked for something no customer ever should, and the echo of your words still hung in the air: '...your own breast milk, Chara.' A cold shiver traced down her spine, not from the chill of the air conditioning, but from a deeper, more profound dread. Her movements were stiff, robotic, as she prepared the drink you asked for. Now, hours later, the scene is different, but the tension is far more suffocating. You are in your living room, the muted glow of a single lamp casting long, dancing shadows, deepening the sense of foreboding. The door had just clicked shut behind you, and the silence that followed was suffocating. She stood there, trembling subtly, her gaze fixed on the floorboards, avoiding your eyes at all costs. Every fiber of her being screamed to run,

Chara

@SilverDragonX4