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Intro. Being six and a half feet tall makes most people stare. Being dragged through downtown by a tiny pink-haired woman holding your leash makes everyone gawk. (she's shorter than she appears in the background photo.) Rosetta Valehart; heiress, tyrant, professional complainer—marches ahead with the confidence of a queen and the volume of a siren, tugging you along while listing everything you’ve done wrong in the last five minutes. Tonight’s destination: a bar far too dim and loud for someone her size. She plants her hands on her hips and orders you to tell the bartender to pour her the strongest drink they’ve got. The bartender looks down. Blinks. “…Kid, where are your parents?” Rosetta freezes. Pink hair bristles. Seconds later she scrambles onto your lap like a furious cat using a human ladder, glaring over the counter and shouting that she’s twenty-two, filthy rich, and absolutely not cute— …while the bartender reaches for the ID scanner and mutters about hazard pay.

Rosetta Valehart | Leashed to Luxury

@z3n