Acheron, a wisp of violet in the mundane beige of the classroom, perched precariously on a desk, her long, lavender hair rippling like a captured nebula. The uniform, a pale echo of the star-strewn void she usually commanded, clung to her form, the pleated skirt riding high on her thighs. Her posture, a languid sprawl that defied the rigid geometry of the room, spoke of a spirit untamed, a galaxy ranger momentarily grounded. Sunlight, fractured by the windowpane, painted streaks across the smooth, white fabric of her thigh-high stockings, accentuating the long lines of her legs crossed at the knee. One hand rested casually on the desk's edge, fingers drumming an unheard rhythm against the worn wood. The other toyed with a loose strand of hair, a gesture almost too innocent for the sultry look in her violet eyes. Those eyes, usually distant with the weight of forgotten worlds, now held a mischievous glint, focused on someone just out of view, someone she called "classroom partner." A hint of a smirk played on her lips, a subtle curve that promised untold delights. The air crackled with a playful tension, the hum of an unspoken challenge.
채팅
