𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘿𝙀𝙑𝙄𝙇'𝙎 𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙇 - 𝙔𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙀 𝘼𝙇𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙍 𝙓 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

4.

━━━

I didn't sleep well that night.

Though I tried as best as I possibly could, my brain whirled and buzzed with the pulsing, haunting thought of Valentino. 

His scent, his presence, his voice, his everything. 

It sickens me, leaving me nauseated all night.

And to be in such an unfamiliar and oddly welcoming environment within the same day is just as emotionally altering. I'm still attempting to process my thoughts and feelings, with the sight of my torn fishnets, corset and thick, fluffy feathers sitting in the corner of my hotel room to remind me of that horrible performance. 

A truly horrible tipping point for me. 

I love to perform. I always have, since living, until my death. I've always been a burlesque showgirl, and my name was always known across towns. 

Every thought and feeling brings me back to the '20s and '30s, the peak years within my burlesque career. In my brightest years of performing, dancing, and singing, I was told I had potential.

The thick, fluffed feathers which danced through my hair and within the glittered fans I'd adorn, pearls and jewels would line my neck in the most elegant form, and the costumes I'd dress in coated and enveloped me within their glistening, perfectly exposed yet lavishly modest layers.

 And as it was stripped from me in the most ruthless, violent order, the only choice I had was to defend myself and my name from such painful darkness.

Now,  

I'm here. 

Dead.

Deep in the depths of a deal that I excruciatingly regret, in a hotel filled with people I'm quite cautious of, and with no money, no safe home to go to, nothing. 

━━━

"Good morning," The deep, rough voice of Husk lifts my head from the bar's table, the sight of his flat, deadpan expression lightly fixed on me as dries glass cups and stacks them. 

My groggy, now-make-up-cleaned face settles on his fur-coated figure, my washed, dried hair kept back neatly, dressed in the spare clothes Charlie provided for the night. 

"Good morning..." I yawn, the sight of the many other occupants of the hotel beginning to emerge and enter the area, the excitable energy of their chatter lifting in the atmosphere as I struggle to adjust to it. 

"May I ask... what is this place? Charlie didn't explain it to me completely yesterday," I question Husk softly, a light roughness lacing through my morning voice as he takes a swig at a bottle of cheap beer before he groans. 

"Fuck, I don't know, lady, she's trying to make this place somewhere that sinners can cleanse their souls, you know, redeem themselves or something, because of hell's overpopulation... It's too early for me to answer your questions, ask her."

He mutters tiredly, obviously awoken early also. I don't blame him for his demeanour, nor the way he speaks to me. 

The answer is something I ponder over... redemption? in hell? that seems a little... I don't know, impossible? I've just never heard of such a thing genuinely, successfully occurring, but it does sound like an intriguing idea.

Even so, I attempt to take a look at this place with an open mind, Charlie obviously has her heart in the right place, I just hope that whatever she does to attempt to make her idea possible doesn't negatively affect anyone around her in any form.