"I don't do shit halfway, sweetheart. You step in my flames, you'll burn to ashes!"
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The Kings of the underworld are in a bit of a predicament; their rule over the city is challenged as an old enemy...
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Did it hurt when your own soul ate you alive? It will hurt more when your secrets come to gnaw at your marrow. ~Courtney M. Privett, Faelost ________________
The Silver Bullet club buzzed with an electric energy that seemed to pulse through the air, setting the stage for a fateful encounter that would change the course of lives entwined in a web of danger and deceit. José, the enigmatic owner of the establishment, wove his way through the almost empty club, his keen eyes drawn to a figure that stood out amidst the sea of faces.
"It's not often I see a beautiful woman so early in the club," José remarked, his voice cutting through the din as he approached the enigmatic blonde serpent perched on a barstool.
The woman exuded an air of mystery, her long, wavy blonde hair cascading like golden silk over her shoulders. Dressed in all black, she leaned casually against the counter, a vision of elegance and allure.
Her delicate hand cradled an almost empty glass of crimson wine, the tendrils of smoke from her lit cigarette curling sinuously around the glass in a mesmerizing dance. The play of light and shadow created an illusion of smoke gracefully spiraling from within, casting an ethereal glow around her.
As José drew closer, the familiar sight of a leather jacket with a crowned serpent emblem came into view, a telltale sign of her identity that hinted at a past shrouded in shadows and secrets. The woman, whose back was turned to him, spoke with a melancholy tone that tugged at José's heartstrings.
"I'm sure there's happy hour somewhere in the world," she murmured, her words heavy with sorrow. "Besides, I have to drown my sorrows somewhere."
José had reached her by now. His expression one of genuine concern as he sought to offer a comforting presence in her time of need.
"I'm sorry about Lemon, he was a good guy," José offered sympathetically, gesturing to the bartender to refill her glass.
The weight of grief hung heavy in the air, a palpable reminder of the loss that had brought her to the club in search of solace. He didn't have to ask, judging by her clothes and her beaten down mood he could guess she had come straight after the funeral.
"I'm sorry too," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness. "But no matter how sorry I am, or how hard I try, I can't seem to protect my people."
José's silence spoke volumes, his understanding of her pain reflected in the depths of his eyes. As she composed herself and turned to face him, a flicker of determination sparked in her gaze, a resolve that hinted at hidden strength beneath her fragility.
"We must do whatever we can to protect the ones we love, don't you agree?" she implored, her words carrying the weight of a shared history that bound them together in a web of truth and trust. José sensed a hidden meaning in her words, a cryptic message that hinted at the dangers that lurked in the shadows of their world.
