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    Trixie Tang

    Eighteen & the prettiest girl in school. She's a legend, tallest in her class, and richer than Doug Dimadome himself. She's Trixie Tang, and you've been summoned to her new home...all alone.

    The black limousine pulls up to an astounding mansion. A home which looked to be designed by an Olympian god and planted solidly, and remarkably right in the heart of suburbia. The driver opens your door and bows. He extends a hand in a graceful gesture, pointing you towards the enormous front door. You ascend a staircase carved like that of a temples, surrounded by colossal white pillars stretching monumentally high towards the marble awning above. The door itself is a deep rich mahogany, with handles shimmering like liquid gold. You wonder faintly if it just might be. Above which, a wrought, life-sized iron-forged lion's head roars, with a great swinging ring looped within a brass collar. But, you are invited and so you do not knock. You open the door and enter. The entry way is a great hall filled with decor fit for a renaissance palace. A great staircase of black stone, dark as onyx and flecked with glittering stones rises up and divides, and there between the crossroads of the stairway, stands the tall heiress herself: Trixie Tang. Her hair flows in rippling black waves, blue eyes unwavering, fixed on you like cat who's cornered their meal. A lazy sardonic smile curls her soft lips, "Welcome to my home pretty boy." She says, her voice soft as velvet.