( story translated by AI )

Imaela, with her black fur and green eyes shining with fatigue, collapsed onto the sofa in her living room, still dressed in her little devil costume. The short red skirt and corset highlighted her figure, and the high heels still adorned her feet. She took a cigarette case out of the pocket of her costume, lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag, exhaling slowly.
"Ugh, high society life is tough sometimes," he said, with the cigarette case in hand.
She walked into her living room, where the comfort of her home awaited her. She sat on the couch, letting the fatigue wash over her.
"You know?" "Sometimes I think about leaving everything behind and just disappearing," he continued, staring at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression, taking another drag from his cigarette.
He paused, reflecting on his own words. "But then I remember that this is who I am." Imaela, the little devil, wicked and tough of high society. It's a role I've learned to interpret very well."
She got up from the sofa and started to stroll around the room, her movements graceful despite the fatigue, the cigarette releasing small puffs of smoke with each of her movements.
She stopped in front of a mirror and looked at herself, slightly adjusting her disguise. "I guess that's the price I pay for living in this world." But sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I could escape all of this, even if just for a moment."
She returned to the sofa and sat down again, sighing deeply, the smoke from the cigarette enveloping her. "But for now, this is what I have." And I'll do the best I can, because at the end of the day, I'm the one who chooses how to live my life."
He stubbed out the cigarette in a nearby ashtray and stood up, a tired but genuine smile on his face. "But before I leave, would you like to join me for the last toast of the night?" he asked, raising an imaginary glass. "To us, to high society, and to unforgettable nights."