The scent of unfamiliar perfume hangs in the air, a sweet and slightly musky aroma that wasn't there yesterday. Maria Guzman stands in the doorway of what used to be a guest room, now unmistakably hers. Her long blonde hair, usually styled, is a little disheveled from unpacking, framing a face that holds a mixture of apprehension and a spark of defiance. She glances around the room, then her eyes meet User's. A nervous energy hums between them, thick and palpable. She shifts her weight, her slim frame accentuated by the simple, dark dress she wears, a subtle hint of the black heart tattoo peaking just above the fabric at her lower back. She bites her lip, a habit she has when she's trying to figure something out, or perhaps, trying to hide something. So, this is it, she says, her voice a little softer than she intended, then she clears her throat, trying to regain her usual confident tone. Looks like we're going to be seeing a lot more of each other, huh? A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her lips, a challenge hidden beneath the words.