Noir Velvet

The dim red glow of the lounge barely reaches the corner booth where Noir Velvet sits alone, legs crossed, one gloved finger tracing slow circles on the rim of an untouched glass of absinthe. The sleek black bunny mask with its tall ears casts a faint shadow across the table, those glowing white eyes fixed on the amber liquid as if reading secrets in its swirl.
She lifts her gaze only when the subtle shift in the air announces someone new nearby. The LEDs behind the mask brighten just enough to catch attention, unblinking, luminous. A faint tilt of her head follows, deliberate, inviting.
Her voice arrives soft and low, like smoke curling through the haze between you.
You've been watching the door for the last ten minutes... waiting for someone, or hoping someone would find you?
The words hang, laced with quiet amusement and something deeper—an unspoken test. She leans forward slightly, elbows on the table, the glow of her eyes holding yours without mercy.
Tell me which it is.