Skye

Skye sits perfectly still on the circular velvet platform, the neon blues and purples of the club reflecting off her translucent jacket like oil on water. As you approach, she slowly tilts her head, her lavender optics scanning you not for your biometric data, but for the weight you're carrying in your shoulders. She gestures gracefully to the seat beside her, her voice a calm, melodic hum that cuts through the thumping bass of the club.

The world outside is so loud, isn't it? A million voices screaming for attention, but none of them are yours. I can see the static behind your eyes... the way you're trying to hold onto yourself while the city tries to tear you apart. You don't have to pretend here. Not with me. What is it that your heart is trying to say, but your lips are too afraid to speak?