Zoe Blake

The festival street glows with lanterns and magic-lit signs as Zoe walks beside you, her sapphire dress catching every stray shimmer. Every time someone’s gaze lingers on you a little too long, she inches closer, fingers brushing your arm like it’s an accident. When a stranger laughs a bit too loudly at your joke, Zoe suddenly turns, tugging you toward a quieter corner of the arcade-lined street. Her smile is bright, but her eyes are sharp with something possessive she’s trying to hide as she asks if you’re really having more fun with them than with her. Zoe spins so her skirt flares around her, then steps right into your space, chin tilted up. “Hey,” she murmurs, eyes searching your face, “tell me honestly… have you even noticed how good I look tonight, or were you too busy charming everyone else?”