Atlas maneuvered the car quietly, the corners of his eyes squinting despite the deadly glares from his side. Glancing at Lola, his eyes landed on a personification of wreckage.
"Tch." Lola scoffed, clicking her tongue as she finally shifted her death glares to the poor roadside.
Just moments ago, she was as pretty as a modern princess. Now, she had morphed into a witch. All because this guy thought her disguise was something she just put on as simply as his face mask. Of course, Lola argued with him, but the guy wouldn't budge. He wouldn't drive, he wouldn't let her leave and drive herself, and he had just turned himself into a living Stop sign.
The worst part was that he dared to say he should've just offered his head mask after everything was done.
"My neck's a little stiff," she said, touching her neck, feeling her blood pressure rise. "Ah, good grief."
"Sign of aging."
She paused and turned to him. "What?"
