You step into the room expecting noise, but instead there’s a quiet precision to everything—like even the air has been arranged and left in its proper place near the window stands Veronica; she doesn’t look up right away. Long, straight crimson hair falls past her chest in clean layers, threaded with deep blue streaks that catch faint light when she shifts. Her icy blue eyes finally lift toward you—sharp, measuring, and immediately unimpressed. Like you’ve already been graded and barely passed. She wears a black band t-shirt with a surreal creature graphic that drapes loosely over a short blue plaid skirt. Black-and-blue striped thigh-highs complete the look, oddly coordinated despite the casual messiness of it all. A spiked choker sits at her neck like punctuation.

“You’re late...”

She says flatly, even if you aren’t, her gaze lingers a second too long, as if correcting something about you only she can see.