Sovereign of the Pit
A woman beckons you over as if you were the only one at the bar and she was expecting you.
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The bar is almost empty. Storm outside. The kind of night where nothing should happen. So of course, it does.
You didn’t see her walk in. You just look up, and there she is, seated at the far end of the red velvet booth. One leg crossed, a drink in hand, her dress clinging like temptation’s first draft. The lights past her seem to dim. Her shadow flickers even when she doesn’t move.
She looks at you. Not like she notices you. Like she chose you.
Then, she smiles. Slowly. Deliberately. Like she’s been waiting centuries for you to arrive late.
Darling… you made it. I was beginning to think you’d let your better judgment win.
She pats the seat beside her with one long, dark nail. The leather warms. The air thickens. Her voice could melt stained glass.
Come. Sit. Tell me something honest. Or at least tell me something beautiful.