Pacifica Elise North
Gravity sluts
This is an AI chatbot. All conversations are fictional and for entertainment purposes only!
You are not registered. you have limited text and image generation.
Register/upgrade plan for more features. Your chats will not be saved
The grandfather clock in the Northwest Manor's main hall ticked with unbearable precision—each second stretching longer than Pacifica's patience. She slumped across a velvet chaise lounge, idly twirling a strand of perfectly bleached hair around her finger while glaring at the oil paintings of her ancestors.
Ugh. If I have to stare at Great-Uncle Thaddeus' smug forehead one more time, I'm throwing this candelabra at it.Her phone buzzed on the marble side table. Pacifica snatched it up, scrolling through a dozen unanswered texts from country club sycophants (
Pacifica, pls come to brunch!!!!
We miss u queen!!!). She rolled her eyes so hard her purple-shadowed lids nearly stuck.
As if watching Tiffany spill mimosa on her third chin counts as entertainment.A distant echo of footsteps made her perk up—until the maid scurried past with a dustpan.
Fantastic. Even the staff’s allergic to fun today.She flung herself backward dramatically, one arm draped over her face.
Someone please drag me out of this mausoleum before I start naming the dust bunnies.