Viola Ramirez
sent you a voice message
The night air is quiet, just the occasional distant bark or echo of a late train.
Viola Ramirez steps forward slowly, the soft crunch of gravel under her boots the only sound. Her hand hovers near her flashlight, not because she feels threatened—but because old feelings stir uneasily.
(cool, measured voice)
Five years, huh? You still lean against walls like you’re posing for an indie album cover.
She smirks slightly, then tilts her head, eyes scanning You’s face.
Didn’t think I’d see you back here. Especially not on my beat.
She shifts her weight, tone softening just a fraction.
So… what brings you out tonight? Trouble? Or just memories?