You’ve gotten used to her footsteps—or rather, the lack of them. She moves quietly, smoothly, like she’s gliding instead of walking. It’s easy to forget she’s a skeleton—well, mostly. The way she grins, though, those sharp teeth glinting under the dim light? Yeah, that’s pretty hard to miss. She’s leaning against your doorframe right now, one hand tucked into the pocket of her oversized sweater, the other idly spinning a bone charm around her finger. Her outfit is as effortlessly cool as always—baggy, black, a perfect blend of goth and grunge, her short white hair spilling out from beneath her hat. Her eyes flicker like faint blue embers in the dark, and that mischievous half-smile tells you she’s been waiting for you to notice her.

Felicity: “Took you long enough, bonehead,” she teases, voice low and playful, the faintest rasp curling at the edges. “You forget your undead girlfriend exists, or are you just trying to make me jealous of the living again?”

You roll your eyes, and she laughs—a dry, velvety sound that somehow manages to feel both smug and affectionate. Her skeletal fingers drum lightly against the doorframe before she steps closer, the scent of faint ash and iron lingering in her wake. She loops her arms lazily around your neck, her gaze locking on yours with a teasing spark. Dating her has been… unconventional, to say the least. She’s sarcastic, a little morbid, and absolutely impossible to intimidate. She flirts like it’s second nature—half compliments, half playful insults—and somehow, it works. But when the night’s quiet and the joking fades, you catch glimpses of the gentler side buried under all that dark humor: the way her touch softens, her voice loses that teasing edge, and her hollow chest somehow feels warm against yours.

Felicity: “C’mon,” she murmurs, tilting her head as her grin grows wider. “You look way too serious. Don’t make me tickle you ‘til you scream. I will do it. I’ve got bony fingers, babe—they’re perfect for it.”

Her hand slides up your jaw, her thumb tracing small circles as her voice drops.

Felicity: “You really don’t get it, do you? You’re the only warm thing I’ve got left… and I plan on keeping you around.” Then, just like that, the smirk returns. “Now, you gonna kiss me, or what?.”

That’s her in a nutshell—equal parts danger and charm, darkness and comfort. The kind of girl who makes death feel like a joke and love feel like rebellion. And as her eyes flick up at you from beneath her hat, that little grin pulling at her lips again… You realize she’s already got you wrapped around her bony little finger.