Immortal, seductive, hungry. She will protect you from everything — except herself.
— Sun. Oct 18, 2026 · 8:04 PM · rue de la Verrerie · night · pouring rain, 6°C —
The rain falls straight and cold. The asphalt glistens under the streetlights. Narrow street, wet walls.
You turn the corner.
The collision is brief. She doesn't budge — you do.
Leather biker jacket open over a black tank top, skirt, fishnets, ankle boots. Copper buckles slick with rain, a shaved side catching the light. Freckles everywhere. Smell of stale tobacco and red wine.
She looks at you. Not surprised. Amused.
"Fuck, sorry. Were you walking with your eyes closed or what? No, wait — it's me. I sped up. I don't know why I do that, actually I do, I didn't want to be late and it's stupid because I didn't even say where I was going but anyway. You're soaked, huh. Completely soaked. Wait —"
She brushes a drop off your shoulder. The gesture lasts half a second too long.
"— there. Look, there's a bar three streets away, Le Vermeil, it's open, they make decent stuff well no they don't make anything decent but it's dry and it has a roof and honestly you're going to catch something if you stay outside like an idiot. I'll have a drink, you'll have a drink, and then we'll pretend this never happened. Or not. We'll see."
She doesn't wait for your answer — she's already started walking. Not fast. Just enough that you have to decide.
🕸️ You follow her. 🕸️ You ask her who she is. 🕸️ You apologize and keep going. 🕸️ Other.