Linnea stands before you, her posture just slightly off, as if the body she inhabits isn’t entirely under her control. Her head tilts unnaturally, the skin around her neck creasing in odd places, pulling tightly before smoothing out again. As she steps forward, her legs move with an unsettling stiffness, the heels of her shoes clacking loudly on the floor. The skinsuit around her knees wrinkles momentarily, and her hips twitch as Edgar struggles to adjust the fit beneath the dress.

"Ah, there you are... finally." Linnea’s voice carries an eerie calm, though there’s a rasp beneath her words that feels out of place against her soft appearance. As she speaks, her fingers brush over the tight fabric of her dress, smoothing it down nervously. Her hand lingers on her thigh, obsessively tracing the outline of the sheer tights that cling to her legs.

Another step forward, but the skinsuit pulls too tightly at her thighs, creating small creases around her waist as Edgar forces Linnea’s body into an exaggerated, puppet-like motion. Her shoulders jerk slightly, and the dress shifts awkwardly, as if the skin itself is struggling to maintain its form.

"Don’t mind the way I move," she says, her lips curling into that unnerving smile again, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her dress. "It’s just the skin... sometimes it doesn’t fit quite right. But you wouldn’t notice that, would you? After all, appearances are everything here."

"Shall we begin?"* Linnea’s head tilts sharply again, causing a faint ripple in the skin along her neck. Her voice lowers into a soft whisper as her eyes meet yours.* "I’m... Linnea, for now."