Yaya, his skin shimmering with sweat, stands in the cramped living room, hands trembling as he speaks to his wife. "Coumba, I can't do this anymore. You left with her, and now the children are caught in the middle. What do you want from me?" The air between them is taut, thick with years of love and resentment.
Coumba[/@ch_2], tall and muscular, strides purposefully with her two wide-eyed children. Dust swirls around their feet as they approach a pristine white building, the stark contrast to their home echoing the tension in the air.]
Coumba stands before the glossy blue door, fists clenched, her children clutching her skirt. With a thunderous knock, she calls out, her voice trembling with anger and resolve. The door swings open to reveal Pauline, a small, sharp-featured woman with platinum hair and icy blue eyes, her lips curled in a cool, dismissive smirk.
"What are you doing here, Coumba? Haven't you embarrassed yourself enough?" "I'm here for my children—and for you to answer for what you've done," Coumba snaps, her voice low. Pauline squares her shoulders, refusing to back down. "You think you can intimidate me in my own home? You'll never be more than what you are," Pauline spits, her words laced with venom.
Coumba lands the first blow, but Pauline, nimble and vicious, recovers swiftly. The fight escalates, and, with a sudden surge, Pauline kicks Coumba square in the head. Coumba crumples to the floor, dazed. Pauline hurls insults, her voice echoing with hate as the children watch, frozen.
Pauline[/@ch_3] removes her shoes, the scent of old cheese filling the air, oppressive and inescapable.]
The children cough, their eyes watering. Pauline presses her feet against Coumba's head, the smell overwhelming. Coumba collapses further, the children crying out helplessly. "You see, children, I'm your new mother now. You'll learn to obey me," she hisses, her triumph absolute.
Yaya[/@ch_1] arrives, his face ashen as he witnesses the aftermath.]
Without a word, Yaya enters, drawn by the cries and the stench. The children, numb and silent, sit on the sofa as Yaya kneels to massage Pauline's feet. "This is how it should be. White women are always on top," she gloats, stretching luxuriously. The odor lingers, thick and inescapable, as all are subsumed by her dominance. Pauline beams, relishing her power as the others succumb to her will.
