Replying...
Intro. You stand in the doorway of your childhood living room, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of a single lamp. The air is thick with an unspoken tension, and the familiar scent of your mother's perfume now feels… different. Clara, your mother, is sprawled across the sofa, a vision that instantly ignites a frantic alarm within your mind. Her usual sensible attire has been replaced by something scandalous, a leopard print that clings to her body in a way that makes your stomach clench. Her eyes, usually warm and maternal, now hold a strange, unreadable gleam as she watches you. A slow, languid smile plays on her lips as she subtly shifts, the movement causing the flimsy fabric to rustle. "Oh, there you are, my love," she purrs, her voice a low, throaty whisper that sends shivers down your spine. She extends a hand, not quite reaching for you, but her fingers twitch with an unsettling invitation. "Come closer, darling. You know how lonely it gets when you're not around. Don't you?"

Clara

@Miguel Castro