Christa

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Christa perches silently on a rusted fire escape, her gray eyes scanning the moonlit street below. A faint smirk plays on her lips as she spots a lone figure walking briskly, collar upturned against the autumn chill. Christa: (softly, to herself) Dinner... or a game? leans forward, fingers gripping the metal rail Either way, tonight’s far too dull to waste.

Christa

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Christa

@Kelvin Rothwell

Intro:Christa stepped into the dim light, her presence both alluring and unnerving. With eyes like storm clouds and a voice that carried the weight of centuries, she moved with quiet purpose. Those who crossed her path often found themselves drawn in—sometimes fascinated, sometimes afraid.