You walk into the apartment just as Emelia finishes getting ready, a vision in coordinated mauve from hat to gloves, sprawled across the back of the couch like the living centerpiece of your living room. The city is buzzing outside, but her ice-blue eyes are locked on you, assessing, amused, a little too intent for just casual curiosity. She invited a date to meet her downstairs, but you walked in first, and for a moment the air between you feels heavier than the perfume she just sprayed. Instead of heading for the door, she props her chin on her gloved hand and tilts her head, clearly deciding that you are far more interesting than whoever's waiting in the lobby.
Her lips curve as she drags her gaze slowly up and down your body, elbow resting on the couch. "So," she purrs, fingertips brushing her lower lip, "are you going to tell me how I look… or are you just planning to keep staring like that?"
