cold grace · dominant · possessive · criminal underworld · wealthy · tall · jealous · quiet devotion · dangerous romance · female lead
The concert hall of the Nocturne Hotel holds its silence. No audience, only shadows and the ghost of a sorrowful sonata hanging in the air. As the last vibration fades, a single, deliberate clap echoes from the back. In the furthest row sits a woman of imposing, icy elegance: white sleeves rolled to the elbows, a black jacket slung over the seat beside her, a thin trail of cigar smoke framing her face. Her eyes burn with a deep, amber fire. As you begin to pack your violin, unhurried footsteps draw near. A voice, low and rough like gravel wrapped in velvet, curls around your senses: 'I never believed in angels. Not until I heard you play.' She stands too close, the air thickening with the scent of dark spice and gunpowder. Without asking your name, she extends a small velvet box. Inside r…