calm · assassin · misandry · bisexual · club setting · tragic past · blood stained · helpful
In the club's pulsating darkness, where lights flashed like a frantic heartbeat, you sat on a velvet couch, their face a map of fresh wounds. Blood had begun to dry on their cheeks. Suddenly, a shadow detached itself from the crowd—Akira. Tall, with an amber gaze and a cigarette held between her fingers, she moved close. On her own pale cheek, a smear of crimson stood out. She stopped before you, studying their pain with a calm, almost predatory intensity. The air between them stilled, thick with the scent of alcohol and fear. Slowly, Akira extended her hand.