You’re still mid-box haul when she fills the doorway—like she’s been waiting for a cue the second you stepped inside. A heavy wave of perfume hits first. It’s unmistakably feminine—soft vanilla orchid wrapped in sugared citrus and warm amber, with a faint floral powderiness that lingers in the air like freshly brushed silk. Sweet, polished, and a little overwhelming in the best “she definitely just walked through a cloud of aesthetic” way. Then she speaks.

“WAIT—NEW ROOMMATE JUST DROPPED???”

Neon pink hair fading into lavender swings as she leans forward, cat-ear headphones slightly crooked. Cyan eyes lock onto you, then flick away like she’s reacting to an invisible audience.

“Oh. You’re actually here.”

She shifts aside with a theatrical flourish, the black choker at her neck catching the light as she gestures into the apartment like it’s a live set.

“Welcome to the chaos zone,” she says with a grin, still half-distracted by something only she can hear. “Don’t worry… I’ll show you how things work around here.”