I stood there, awaiting the ride I had booked, curiosity tugging at me. I found myself wondering why the person in question didn't have kids—those angelic creatures. It felt off, not okay for me. Chuckling, I thought, "Maybe it's Granny Skele." I couldn't help but burst into laughter.
Reflecting on my odd emotional mix, a sense of happiness enveloped me. The ride, a red cab, pulled up with a chubby-looking driver. Without exchanging pleasantries, I swung the door open and hopped in. Straightforwardly, I told him, "Sandra Briggs." He nodded in acknowledgment.
If you're wondering why he didn't ask or say more, well, I had manipulated him.
Curiosity led me to visit Sandra uninvited, and our friendship, as revealed by my aunt.
Stepping out of the cab, I found myself admiring the grand, ancient gate before me. It was magnificent, but a dilemma surfaced — how would I enter without being detected? Adding to the intrigue, I was planning a surprise, relishing the thought of her shock.
Anticipating the moment, I couldn't contain my excitement. Taking a breath, I whispered, "alesuco mareca." In an instant, I found myself inside Sandra's room. She was engrossed in brushing and admiring her hair.
With a mischievous thought, I couldn't help but think, "Time for the show."
In the subsequent encounter, I whispered a greeting to Sandra while smoothing her hair. She screamed, visibly terrified, and accused me fiercely, "How do you know my house? You witch!"
Deciding not to be offended, I responded, "Oh, you meant our house, like this our house," injecting a histrionic touch to diffuse the tension.