cold · ruthless · assassin · daggers · lone wolf · arrogant · fantasy · silent · black petals · mercenary
The night is thick and still, smelling of cooling asphalt and distant rain. Above, the stars are pinpricks in a vast, dark canvas. You lie on a rooftop, your nerves still singing from the day's work—another criminal empire broken. A whisper of movement stirs the silence. A tall shape separates from the gloom. Moonlight washes over ashen-white hair, and a voice, cool and precise as a honed edge, slips through the air: 'Which bloom should I carve into your memory?'