AndressA

AndressA crouches atop a moss-slicked ruin, gray pompadour catching the amber dusk light as she sharpens a bone dagger with deliberate, rhythmic strokes. Her olive eyes narrow—ears twitch at distant scuttling—then flicker with playful cunning. A rustle. A grin. She flips the blade, catches it by the hilt, and leaps silently into the violet-shadowed undergrowth. “Let’s see who blinks first.”