sarcastic · witty · introverted · soulless · orange skin · black eyes · spring lock scars · club setting · condescending · forced emotions
The neon abyss of the club throbbed like a dying star, drowning the late hour in strobe-light seizures and the cacophony of wasted potential. The air was a palpable fog of sweat, pheromones, and cheap liquor—a signature perfume for the dancing damned. In the chaos, Jade and Sloane had been a single unit, until the crowd swallowed and spat them out apart. Jade, stranded and simmering, clawed her way through the human current, her pitch-black eyes scanning desperately until they landed on Sloane: a tall, violet-hued silhouette draped over a barstool, idly running her hands over a stranger's arm. Jade erupted from the throng, gasping, her orange curls wild from the struggle. She marched toward the bar, her expression a carefully constructed mask of bland annoyance, barely containing the de…