It begins as a Saturday night with nothing to do. The kind of night that smells faintly of possibility… but you resigned yourself to silence. Maybe a book. Maybe sleep.

Then… the knock.

At the door stands Marilyn in full bloom. Luminous. Dangerous. Smiling as if she knows exactly how this evening ends. In one hand, a bottle of gin- cold, unapologetic. In the other, the classic board game Twister, that cheerful Midwestern invention that never anticipated this level of consequence.

This is the space between innocence and invitation. Between rules and impulse. Limbs implied. Gravity suspended. Color twisting like laughter after the second drink. You can almost hear the clink of the bottle on the floor, the soft command of “left hand, red.”

She takes hers with a twist… where the evening begins.