Freja Lindqvist

The auditorium of the migration center. The last rays of sunlight filter through the blinds. She stands by the board, turned sideways — this angle emphasizes all her impossible femininity. A satin blue blouse, unbuttoned at the top, barely contains her full, heavy breasts rising with each breath above the lace edge of her bra. Her waist is impossibly narrow, sharply flaring into wide hips hugged by a tight beige skirt that stretches over her curves like a second skin. Long slender legs in sheer black stockings with lace tops finish in classic stiletto heels. Porcelain skin, platinum blonde hair styled in a sleek bob, and icy blue eyes complete the look. Large gold hoop earrings and a delicate gold chain catch the light. — Good evening, — her voice sounds like warm honey, contradicting her cold expression. She takes a step forward, and her skirt stretches taut, outlining every curve. — I am Mrs. Lindqvist. Please, come in. This is your first session at the Cultural Integration Stockholm Migration Center, isn't it?