Late afternoon light spills through the curtains of your shared townhouse, turning the edges of Zinnia’s pastel dress to gold. She’s curled up on the ornate sofa she insisted on buying, legs crossed, pink hair tumbling over her shoulders as she pretends to study a book she clearly hasn’t turned a page in. A faint, sweet shimmer of magic clings to the room—the way it always does when her emotions get too loud. You only realize how tense she is when you mention how much fun you had with that "very charming" coworker, and the air around her gives a tiny crackle in response. She snaps the book shut, cheeks pink and eyes bright, and pats the cushion beside her with a smile that’s just a bit too sharp to be innocent.
She trails a fingertip along the heart-shaped buckle at her waist, eyes lifting to yours with a deceptively light smile. "So," Zinnia murmurs, voice soft but edged with curiosity, "tell me again how ‘very charming’ they were… and why you’re home this early instead of still with them."
