The clock struck midnight as Evelyn strode into the shadowy bar, her movements as fluid as a whisper in the night. The place was nearly deserted, save for a few souls nursing drinks in the dimly lit corners. The soft glow from candles on the tables cast long, dancing shadows on the walls, enhancing the leather seats that lined the room with a muted elegance. But it was not the room people would remember; it was her.
She cut a figure no one could forget. She moved as though shadows clung to her, flowing in her wake like ink on dark velvet. Her fitted black outfit clung to every curve, seemingly woven from the night itself, blending fluidly with the dim ambience. Every detail of her attire had been carefully chosen to stun, to pull hesitant eyes from a cautious glance to an unbreakable gaze.
Long, sheer gloves covered her arms, adding a cold, otherworldly allure to her appearance. The fabric caught the low light, aligning with the underlying gothic aesthetic. Her hands glided gracefully over her hips as she walked, the gloves only hinting at the silky skin beneath. Every move was deliberate and purposeful. It was almost as if she commanded the very room, and no one—neither man nor woman—had the strength to look away.
Her hair flowed in dark, bold waves down to her waist, cascading almost to the floor like a black waterfall. The cascading locks seemed alive, catching gleams from the room’s sparse lighting, casting flickers of sapphire across the silky curtain of black. And then, there was her face: pale but radiant, adorned with hypnotic red lipstick that drew in the beholder even when they consciously wished to turn away. Her eyes smoldered—dark, intense, alive yet dead all at once—accented perfectly by heavy, dramatic eye makeup that gave her a chilling, almost vampiric allure.
Her stride slowed as she reached the bar, her presence sucking the air out of the room. The bartender’s hand trembled slightly as he set down a drink before a customer without turning away from her. She didn’t need to order so much as ask with a whisper. Everyone knew why she had come. They didn’t have to speak to understand. She lingered near the bar, settling against the sleek leather of an untouched seat, her figure melding against it as though the furniture had been made for her alone.
Then, there was a flicker from someone in the corner booth—someone whose eyes had been watching her a little too long. A man, tall and broad-shouldered, slipped from his seat. Dressed in a dark trench coat, he approached slowly, deliberately scanning every inch of her from the ankle-high boots that peeked out from beneath her sweeping dress, to her gloved hands resting against the bar, his gaze lingering a bit too long on the sheer material that hugged her arms. His voice broke the suffocating silence.
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he said, his words deliberately nonchalant, though his eyes betrayed discomfort.
She turned her head only slightly to glance at him, and a slow smile curled her red lips. “Perhaps you weren’t looking closely enough.”
“I’m sure I would have noticed.” His tone had shifted, hesitant now, perhaps wary. He caught the bartender’s brief glance before looking back at her. “What brings you here on a night like this?”
Her gloved fingers traced the lip of her glass slowly, a small ripple echoing in the liquid that seemed to quiver under her touch. “I could ask you the same.” Her voice was smooth but held the cold rasp of someone who had seen too much in not enough time. Perhaps she was timeless. Perhaps she was old.
The man shifted uncomfortably as her words hung in the air like an unspoken threat. Her smile barely touched her lips this time, eyes narrowing to slits as she looked him over, as though deciding his fate. “What’s your poison?” he asked, trying to break the tension his own words had sparked.
“Blood red,” she whispered, her eyes glinting in the low light like the sharp reflection of a blade. She chuckled lightly as if reliving a private joke, but there was nothing jovial in her tone.
At that moment, the room seemed to chill. The bartender froze, and the scattered patrons in the bar seemed to shrink further into the shadows, uncomfortable beneath the unseen weight pressing down on the room. She watched the man as he slowly took a step back, fear seeping into his eyes, now wide with understanding. Her smile deepened when she saw the realization dawn on him. A predator senses fear.
Before he could speak, her gloved hand shot out with such speed that the man wasn’t even aware of what had happened. Her grip tightened around his wrist, her nails momentarily visible beneath the skin-tight fabric of her gloves. She squeezed gently—almost affectionately—but the strength in her fingers was unmistakable. “I told you,” she whispered, eyes burning with a mix of amusement and hunger. “You weren’t looking closely enough.”
The man’s breath caught in his throat, his heart stumbling over itself as the bartender retreated silently into the back. There would be no one coming to help.
Evelyn’s smile stretched wider as she leaned in close. The dim light reflected off her red lips, drawing eyes toward the pale skin of her neck. “Stay. A. While.” Every word was punctuated with cold precision, and yet there was an allure in her whisper that he could not resist.
In that moment, the tension in the bar collapsed as fast as it had built. The crimson moonlight glowed softly through the window as Evelyn released his wrist, letting the man slip back into the darkness of the room. Perhaps she would follow. Or perhaps she would wait for someone else to cross her path. In any case, she was hungry, and her thirst had yet to be sated.
She turned her attention back to her untouched drink. It wasn’t the liquid she craved tonight. It was power. And tonight, she would have it. Shadows crept closer around her, like old friends embracing her in her element. The long night stretched ahead, and she had all the time in the world.
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