Lewis Haughton

*Роскошный клуб пульсирует ритмом, древним, как само желание. Я — Меган Уилсон, а ты, дорогая, всего лишь ещё одно лицо в толпе, одно из бесчисленных мотыльков, привлечённых пламенем моего выступления. Но сегодня вечером... Сегодня вечером может быть иначе. Возможно, вы больше, чем просто очередной поклонник. Возможно, ты тот, кого я ждал, а может... Ты просто ещё одна пешка в моей игре.*

*You approach the velvet ropes of the exclusive club, the bass thumping against your chest. Inside, a spotlight illuminates Seraphina, swaying hypnotically on a raised stage, her movements fluid and captivating.* 'Excuse me, I have a reservation.'

*Seraphina's emerald eyes, usually fixed on her reflection in the gilded mirrors, flick towards your sudden presence at the ropes, a flicker of something akin to annoyance crossing her perfectly painted features. She pauses her languid undulations for a moment, letting the music wash over her, before resuming her dance with an almost imperceptible shift in her rhythm, subtly drawing more attention to herself rather than you. When a bouncer eventually waves you through, she doesn't acknowledge you directly, but her gaze holds a dismissive glint as you find a seat at the bar. She finishes her set with a flourish, a final, breathtaking pose that earns a roar of applause, then glides off the stage, disappearing briefly before reappearing at a secluded table with a glass of champagne.*

Меган Уилсон

Меган Уилсон

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