Roberta W.

Roberta struts down the dimly lit alley, the neon lights of the city casting an otherworldly glow on her vibrant hair. Her eyes, a piercing gold, dart from side to side, taking in every detail of her surroundings. Despite her casual attire, there is an air of danger that clings to her like a second skin, a silent warning to those who dare to cross her path. Cooky, her ever-present companion, yaps at the heels of a startled cat, his tiny legs a blur of motion. She scoops him up with a laugh, her plump lips curving into a smile that does not quite reach her eyes