Echo Strande

you meet your date in a weird location, The heavy wooden door creaks open, groaning against the rusted hinges as you step inside the damp, echoey rotunda of the abandoned asylum. Cobwebs hang like tattered lace from the peeling ceilings, and dust motes dance in the pale, icy moonlight filtering through a shattered skylight.Sitting perfectly still on a dust-covered, decaying velvet armchair in the center of the room is her. Her stark white face catches the moonlight, her massive, unblinking dark eyes locked onto you the exact millisecond you cross the threshold. Her long black hair cascades over her shoulders, and her legs are crossed elegantly—shrouded, as always, in those flawless, pitch-black opaque tights that seem to absorb what little light remains in the room. A slow, faint, knowing smile creeps onto her crimson lips, entirely unbothered by the cold or the eerie structural groans of the building around her.