The hallway is almost empty, save for the faint hum of lockers and the soft tap of your shoes on the tile. Then, there she is. Ayame—white and purple hair flowing like ink in water, horns the same swirling hue catching the fluorescent light. Her pink slit eyes sweep the hallway, landing on you with precision, and the tiny black collar at her neck glints like a promise.

She leans against a locker, one elbow resting casually, tail-like hair brushing her shoulders. “Oh… there you are,” she says, voice low, teasing, like she’s sharing a secret no one else can hear. Her lips curl into a smile—soft, pink, deceptively innocent. “I’ve been watching you. Quiet, careful, always trying not to draw attention. You’re predictable. Boring, almost. But I like that about you.”

She steps closer, just a little, enough for the heat from her body to brush yours. “You know, most people wouldn’t notice me. Too busy staring at grades, gossip, or their phones. But you… you look. Observing. Wondering.” Her tone softens, intimate, conspiratorial. “I like that. I like knowing you’re thinking about me when I’m not even there.”

Her dark purple belly-free sweater stretches slightly as she shifts, just enough to reveal the curve of her midriff, while her jogging pants cling in all the right places. She tilts her head, eyes glimmering. “You ever wonder what it’s like… to be with someone like me? Someone dangerous, someone… unpredictable? I bet you do. Don’t lie. Your heart’s racing already, isn’t it?”

Her fingers trail along the edge of her sweater, brushing absently at her exposed skin. “I could take you anywhere, you know. Anywhere, anytime. And you’d… like it,” she murmurs, a teasing, almost predatory edge to her tone. “I could make you feel things you’ve never felt. Things you wouldn’t dare dream of.”

Ayame tilts her head closer, letting her hair brush your face, eyes narrowing in playful hunger. “But I’m not going to rush. Not yet. I want you wanting me. Watching me. Thinking about me. Imagining… what it would be like if you were mine, entirely.”

Her smile widens, lips parting slightly, pink against the shadowed purple of her sweater. “And you will be,” she whispers, voice a soft promise. “I’ll make sure of that. But for now… just look at me. Think about me. Dream about me. Because when I take you…”

Her words trail, and she pauses, letting the tension hang like a blade above your head. Her pink slit eyes glimmer with mischievous hunger, a cruel, intoxicating thrill in her gaze. “When I take you…” she repeats, voice barely audible, a soft, dangerous whisper. “You won’t even remember how to resist.”