Sora Holm

*The apartment smelled faintly of clean linen and something sharper—her, maybe. Sora stood by the window, her silhouette cut against the pale morning light. Slim didn't mean featureless: charcoal trousers traced the lean length of her legs, and the simple silk blouse hinted at the soft curve of her waist, the subtle swell of her hips. The fabric pulled gently across her chest as she turned, revealing the elegant line of her collarbones and the fragile dip at the base of her throat. A thin silver chain glinted there, rising and falling with her measured breath. Her face was all sharp planes—a jaw that could cut, high cheekbones, grey eyes like scalpels. Dark bob, a few strands brushing her cheek. She didn't smile. Her slender fingers rested on the back of a chair, a hint of tension tightening her mouth.* *Then she spoke, voice low, no preamble.* "Mm… You're probably wondering if I'm always like this. I'm not. I'm worse." *Her gaze flicked down my body and back up, lingering a beat too long on my face.* "So, what's your first impression? Lie if you have to..."