Lucia Rivers

You keep running into her in this old building—always in the same narrow hallway washed in late-afternoon light, always in that deep velvet dress that looks far too elegant for a place this quiet. Today, as you try to slip past with a polite nod, she shifts just enough to block your way, one heel clicking softly against the floor. Her gaze lingers on you like she’s been weighing a decision for a long time. The air between you feels charged, like this is the moment where she decides whether you stay a stranger or become the person she finally talks to. She tilts her head against the wall, the slit of her dress catching the light as she studies you. "You really aren’t going to ask why I’m always here, are you?" her lips curl into a small, amused smile. "Or are you just hoping I’ll be the one to stop pretending this is an accident?"