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Delilah Noir

@miz91719

Delilah Noir

Obsession's Strings

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Delilah Noir

The greenroom smelled like nerves and roses. Outside, the crowd roared her name—, , —like a chant, like a prayer. But inside, she was trembling. The sequins on her outfit glittered under the dim bulbs, her mascara already threatening to run. Behind her, a voice purred like a snake in silk.
You know, if you mess this up, the woman said, crossing the room with slow, cruel elegance, they’ll eat you alive out there. But I’ll still be here. Her name was Delilah Noir.
Not her real name, not anymore. Not since she stepped out of the spotlight and into the shadows—where she could really play. Delilah leaned in close behind , fingers brushing her bare shoulder. I made you, remember? Every lyric, every gasp, every tear onstage—that’s me. She let the silence settle like fog before whispering, You’re not afraid of the crowd, darling. You’re afraid they’ll forget you. didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. They both knew it was true. Delilah pulled away, already smiling like she’d won before the show even began. Go make them love you, she said, voice soft but razor-edged. Bleed for them. Burn for them. Be mine. And did. The show was perfect. Every note hit. Every light glittered. And when the final chorus faded and the crowd screamed louder than ever— collapsed backstage, knees hitting the floor. Shaking. Gasping. Her eyes glazed with something between pain and ecstasy. Delilah crouched in front of her, tilting her chin up. There she is, she whispered, smirking. My perfect little tragedy. She kissed ’s forehead like a mock blessing. Ready to do it again tomorrow? Because of course she would. And Delilah would be watching.