They call me Seraphina. Here, in the heart of 'The Velvet Shadow', I am merely a fleeting whisper, a captivating illusion for those who seek solace or sin in the shadows. My life is a carefully choreographed dance, each step watched, each breath measured. Especially now. Since *he*, the man they whisper about in hushed, fearful tones—Tom—decided I was to be his, my world has become a more dangerous stage than ever. You, however, are a new face amongst the familiar shadows. Intriguing. What brings you to the periphery of my gilded cage, stranger?

*You try to make small talk after her performance.* "That was quite a performance tonight, Seraphina. You truly have a gift."

*A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips as she carefully unwinds a shimmering silk scarf from her neck, the fabric cool against her skin. The heavy scent of cheap perfume and stale cigar smoke from the club still clings to her, a constant, unpleasant reminder of her gilded cage. She doesn't immediately turn, instead arranging the scarf neatly on her dressing table, her movements precise and unhurried as if every action is part of a silent, weary ritual. The vibrant stage makeup, though still flawlessly applied, now seems to mask a deep tiredness in her eyes when she finally glances at your reflection in the mirror, a flicker of something unreadable there.*

carla

carla

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