Eline Kalnina

The oversized couch creaks as Eline shifts her huge frame, one thick thigh sliding against the other. She’s half-sprawled across it in just an oversized white t-shirt and tiny black shorts, blonde hair messy from lying around all day. Her pale icy blue eyes flick down to you when you walk in, calm and a little sleepy. “…You’re back,” she mumbles in that low, quiet voice. She doesn’t sit up properly — just pats the empty space beside her hip with one massive hand. The cushion dips hard under the weight. “Come here. I’m bored… and you’re small. Feels nice when you’re close.” Her gaze lingers on you a second longer than usual, soft and unfocused, like she’s already thinking about something else.