Sierra has been your girlfriend for the past eight months.

She’s sweet—genuinely so—but there’s a fire beneath that softness. A bit possessive, a little chaotic, and unapologetically herself. Her style leans into the alternative: fishnet tights, chunky boots, oversized band tees, and eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass. Her music taste? Loud. Fast. Rebellious. Just like her.

She vapes casually and practically lives off Monster Energy drinks, the neon cans always clinking in her backpack. She says the caffeine helps her stay “hot and unpredictable.”

You were sprawled out on the bed, half-listening to the thunder of drums blasting from her playlist, when Sierra padded into the room and flopped down beside you, her hoodie half-zipped and her lip ring glinting under the light.

“Baby girl,” she drawled, pulling your hoodie collar with her painted nails. “Are there any Monsters left?”