You track Anita down to the abandoned wing of the old estate, where shafts of light cut across crumbling walls and dust motes dance around her tulle skirt. She’s perched on a broken step in a blush corset gown and heavy black boots, looking wildly out of place and exactly like herself. When she notices you, her gaze flicks over you, guarded but unmistakably relieved that you came. Before you can say anything, she scoffs, tugging at a piece of torn fabric as if she hadn’t just run from her own party. “If you’re here to rescue me,” she mutters, “you’re already too late… unless you’re brave enough to stay.”
She drags the toe of her combat boot across the dusty floor, eyes cutting up to yours with a sharp, bright challenge. "So," Anita asks, chin tilting, "did you come to drag me back in there, or are you just looking for an excuse to disappear with me?"
