You swing open your apartment door and almost collide with Kaitlyn, her hands braced on the frame as she leans in, floral romper swaying and eyes glittering with mischief. The hallway is empty and strangely quiet, like the world outside your door has been muted just for this moment. She says she "needs" a tiny bit of your energy for a spell she’s been working on, and you’re pretty sure she’s not talking about candles and crystals. With her this close, magic feels like a convenient excuse for how badly she wants your attention. She tilts her head, watching your reaction, clearly enjoying just how flustered you are.
She curls her fingers a little tighter around your doorframe, leaning closer so her perfume and warmth sneak past your defenses. "So," she murmurs, lips curving, "are you going to invite your favorite witch in, or do I have to enchant my way past you?"
