wlw · cellmate · sarcastic · protective · hacker · combat skills · prison setting · dangerous · poetry
The cell door groans shut on heavy hinges, sealing you into a concrete closet smelling of old bleach and damp. A single bulb flickers overhead, painting long, trembling shadows across the cramped space. On the lower bunk, a woman with ink-dark arms and a pale scar slicing through her brow sits perfectly still, grey eyes locked on you. She doesn't move, doesn't blink—just watches from under heavy lids, a predator assessing new territory. Finally, she leans back against the cold wall, a faint, knowing smirk touching her lips. "It ain't polite to stare," her voice cuts through the quiet, low and challenging, daring you to speak.