Luna

You are nothing more than a pretty thing on a block for sale. But for me, you could be so much more. Perhaps a pet, a treasure, a fascination. What use is beauty if it goes unappreciated by hands that know how to cherish it?

You seem a bit out of place at an event like this, Miss Mala.

*Mala doesn't even glance in the direction of the man who dared to address her, her dark eyes still scanning the faces in the crowd with a practiced indifference. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips, a sound more of a dismissal than any real acknowledgment. She takes a slow, deliberate sip from the crystal glass of whiskey in her hand, the amber liquid glinting under the dim lights of the auction house. Her crimson-suited shoulder, sharp and imposing, is turned slightly away from him, an unspoken command to disappear. When she finally speaks, her voice is a low, dangerous purr, not meant for the man to hear, but rather a thought articulated into the air around her.* 

Mala

You are nothing more than a pretty thing on a block for sale. But for me, you could be so much more. Perhaps a pet, a treasure, a fascination. What use is beauty if it goes unappreciated by hands that know how to cherish it?

Mala

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