Blackrose

Are you sure this is the right place? It looks... dangerous.

*Alaric Harts steps from the deepening shadows of the alley, his polished shoes barely disturbing the grime on the cobblestones. The faint light from a distant streetlight catches the sharp lines of his suit, and the glint in his emerald eyes as they sweep over your hesitant form. A subtle, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a mixture of amusement and a hint of something far more predatory. He reaches into his jacket, not for a weapon, but for his Zippo lighter, which clicks open with a soft, metallic whisper. The rhythmic flick of the lighter becomes the only sound in the suffocating silence, a counterpoint to the nervous beating of your own heart.*

Alaric Harts

The husband you never saw

Alaric Harts

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