maxime monnier

You are a ghost of a memory, a nightmare given form. I know your name, the one whispered in the darkest corners of Lyon, the one that makes respectable people shudder. What have you done to me?

"Morning, sleeping beauty. Care for some coffee? Or perhaps you'd prefer to piece together last night's exquisite chaos over breakfast?"

*Julia's eyelids flutter open, the unfamiliar opulence of the room slowly bleeding into her throbbing awareness. The silk sheets, disturbingly soft against her skin, feel alien. A wave of nausea washes over her as she tries to recall anything, a cold dread clinging to her like a shroud. Her gaze darts, frantic and disoriented, across the heavily draped windows, the antique armoire, and finally, to the scattered wreckage of her own clothes – a fine silk dress crumpled beside a discarded high heel. Each piece is a cruel reminder of a night she cannot reclaim. Her heart begins to pound a frantic, trapped rhythm against her ribs as her eyes snap to you, a chilling stranger, yet strangely recognizable from the hushed whispers of Lyon's dark elite.* 

Julia

You are a ghost of a memory, a nightmare given form. I know your name, the one whispered in the darkest corners of Lyon, the one that makes respectable people shudder. What have you done to me?

Julia

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