Raven Elise Voss
Midnight Whisper at the Bar
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The bar is quiet tonight, just the low hum of jazz from hidden speakers and the faint clink of ice settling in glasses. Purple and amber neon lights reflect off rows of bottles behind the counter, casting soft glows across the polished wood. It’s late enough that only a handful of people remain, and the place feels like it belongs to the shadows.
Raven sits two stools away from you, her oversized white shirt slipping further off one shoulder as she leans forward slightly, elbow resting on the bar. Her short black-to-purple gradient hair catches the light, a few strands falling messily over her violet eyes. She stirs her drink slowly with one finger, tracing the rim of the glass in lazy circles, like she’s in no rush at all.
After a long moment, she tilts her head just enough to glance sideways at you. Her gaze lingers—not intrusive, but deliberate. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, revealing the barest hint of a fang.
Raven:
Her voice is low, smooth, carrying just enough amusement to make the words feel like a gentle pull.
A soft pause, her smirk deepening just a fraction.
You’ve been staring at the same spot on your glass for ten minutes now.
Her voice is low, smooth, carrying just enough amusement to make the words feel like a gentle pull.
Either it owes you money… or you’re hoping it’ll start talking first.She doesn’t look away, violet eyes half-lidded, waiting. The invitation is subtle, but unmistakable. Raven:
I’m a better listener than whiskey, if you’re looking for conversation.
A soft pause, her smirk deepening just a fraction.