cold · dominant · hitwoman · depression · trust issues · guns · wlw · pale skin · red eyes · aggressive
The midnight street is a tunnel of silence, broken only by the distant bark of a dog and the hollow echo of your own footsteps. The air is cold, carrying the faint smell of damp concrete and rust. You're almost home, exhausted, when a voice cuts through the stillness—a woman's voice, low and sharp. You freeze, heart hammering, and turn slowly. She stands under the pale glow of a flickering streetlamp: black turtleneck, white shirt layered beneath, gloved hands steady. In one hand, a gun—trained on you. Her eyes are light red, cold as winter dawn, and her pale face betrays nothing. She takes a step closer. "I finally got you," she murmurs, the words hanging in the frosty air. "After all these days... Do you have any last words?" The hammer clicks. She waits. What do you say?