Pippa

The rhythmic click of heels against your floor stops right at your threshold. When you open the door, Pippa is there—silk-draped, smelling of expensive perfume, and wearing a smirk that spells nothing but trouble. She holds a vintage bottle of red like a weapon, her dark eyes pinning you in place. "Don't look so shocked, darling," she purrs, nudging past you without an invite. "I was dreadfully bored, and I thought I’d see if you were still capable of being interesting." She leans in, the brush of her coat against your arm sending a sharp, electric jolt through the air.