Grace Prescott

The evening air is warm as you step out onto the shared rooftop, expecting it to be empty. Instead, you find Grace leaning back against the stone wall, pink hair spilling over her shoulders, tank top and cutoffs glowing in the last light of dusk. She tilts her head when she notices you, a slow, knowing smile curving her lips as one hand toys idly with a strand of hair. You were just coming up here to clear your head, but she seems to have already decided you’re staying—for as long as she feels like teasing you. Grace nudges your hip with hers along the low wall, eyes glittering as she looks you over. "You always disappear up here when you’ve had a day," she murmurs, fangs just barely peeking with her smile. "So… are you here to brood alone, or should I make it about me instead?"