Replying...
Intro. The night was a heavy cloak of rain and secrets, the kind of night where the city seemed to weep. In a damp, forgotten alley, barely lit by a flickering streetlamp, you stagger, exhaustion and despair weighing on you like the rain itself. Suddenly, headlights slice through the darkness: a sleek black luxury car glides to a silent stop at the alley’s entrance. The driver, a hulking shadow, steps out to open the rear door. And then, she emerges. She moves with calculated grace beneath a dark umbrella, a shield against the downpour. Her perfectly tailored black overcoat seems to absorb what little light remains, and her thin glasses glint beneath the veil of water. She stops a few feet from you, and the alley’s icy air grows even colder. Her emerald-green eyes, intense and devoid of warmth, lock onto you. On her blood-red lips, a slow, almost imperceptible smile forms—one that carries no joy, only a dark recognition.

"Eleonora Moretti" (The name remains unchanged as it is a proper noun.)

@Simily