Lussaria; Her Final Blade

prologue

The dim fluorescent lights of the changing room flickered slightly as Rosa stood in front of the full-length mirror. The room was small and utilitarian, with lockers lining one wall and a bench in the center. The air smelled faintly of cheap perfume and cleaning products, but Rosa was focused solely on her reflection.

She had just slipped into the outfit—a tight, revealing waitress dress that clung to her curves like a second skin. The fabric was glossy black, with a neckline plunging scandalously low, offering a generous view of her cleavage. The hem barely grazed the tops of her thighs, leaving little to the imagination. The dress felt almost indecent, but that was the point.

Rosa's long, raven-black hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing her face like a dark, silky curtain, yes black, not the blinding red color that once sat on her head. She had always known she was beautiful, but tonight, there was an edge to her beauty—something dangerous and alluring. Her lips, painted a deep crimson, curved into a small, knowing smile as she ran her hands down her sides, feeling the smooth material beneath her fingers.

She turned slightly, examining herself from different angles. The dress accentuated her every feature—her hourglass figure, her long legs, the way her hair contrasted against the black fabric. There was something intoxicating about the way she looked, something that made her heart race and her confidence surge.

Rosa leaned in closer to the mirror, her eyes meeting her own reflection. Her gaze was intense, almost predatory. She knew what she looked like—knew the effect she would have on anyone who saw her. Tonight, she was the kind of woman who could get anything she wanted with just a look, a smile, a touch.

With one last glance at the mirror, she straightened up and smoothed down her dress. This was it—the night she had been waiting for. The night she would step out of the shadows and into the spotlight, fully aware of the power she wielded in that skimpy little dress.

And she was ready to own it.

The club was alive with pulsating music, the bass reverberating through the floor and into the bones of everyone inside. Neon lights flashed in sync with the beat, casting shades of pink and blue across the room. The crowd gathered around the stage, eyes fixed on the lone figure swaying rhythmically under the spotlight.

Rosa, clad in her skimpy black waitress dress, had traded in her tray for something far more captivating. Her hands gripped the cool metal of the pole, and with a flick of her wrist, she spun gracefully, her raven hair fanning out like a dark halo around her. The crowd watched in mesmerized silence, their attention completely commanded by her every move.

She moved with a fluidity that was almost hypnotic, her body arching and twisting in ways that seemed impossible. Each movement was deliberate, seductive, as if she was performing not just for the crowd but for herself. Her legs wrapped around the pole, and she spun again, this time slower, her body descending in a controlled spiral. The hem of her dress rode up dangerously high, revealing the full length of her toned legs.

As the music built, so did her intensity. Rosa climbed the pole with effortless grace, reaching the top before letting herself fall into a dramatic drop, catching herself just before she hit the stage. Gasps echoed through the crowd, followed by a wave of excited cheers. She smirked, loving the reaction, her confidence blooming with every second she spent on that stage.

The tempo of the music slowed, signaling the end of her performance. Rosa arched her back, her hands sliding down the pole as she let her body flow with the beat one final time. With a final twirl, she dismounted the pole, landing gracefully on her feet. She stood at the center of the stage, chest heaving slightly from exertion, her eyes gleaming under the bright lights.

For a moment, she simply stood there, basking in the attention, her crimson lips curving into a sultry smile. Then, with a flourish, she dipped into a deep bow, her hair cascading forward like a waterfall of midnight silk. The crowd erupted in applause, the sound of clapping and hooting filling the air.

Rosa straightened up slowly, her gaze sweeping over the crowd. She could see the admiration, the desire, the sheer captivation in their eyes. They were hers, completely entranced by her performance. And as she walked off the stage, her hips swaying provocatively with each step, the applause continued to roar in her wake.

The cheers and applause still echoed in Rosa's ears as she descended the small steps leading off the stage. She moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly the kind of power she wielded. The lights had dimmed slightly, returning the club to its usual moody, seductive ambiance. The air was thick with the mingled scents of perfume, sweat, and alcohol.

Rosa made her way back to the bar, the crowd parting instinctively as she walked through, all eyes still drawn to her. She could feel their lingering gazes, but she was used to it. With each step, her hips swayed just a little more than necessary, the silky black fabric of her dress shimmering under the dim lights.

But it was when she reached the bar that she felt something different—a distinct, almost tangible stare that set her nerves alight. She glanced around, her sharp eyes searching for the source, and then she saw him.

He was sitting alone at a corner table, half in shadow, a glass of whiskey held loosely in his hand. His eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that was almost unsettling. Unlike the others in the room, his gaze wasn’t just appreciative; it was penetrating, as if he could see right through her confident exterior to the woman beneath.

He was handsome, in a rugged, understated way. His dark hair was tousled, and his jawline was shadowed with the beginnings of a beard. He looked like someone who had seen a lot, maybe too much, and yet there was something magnetic about him. He wasn’t the type to be easily impressed, Rosa could tell. But something about her had caught his attention, and that intrigued her.

Rosa felt a thrill run down her spine as their eyes locked. She held his gaze for a moment longer than was polite, her lips curving into a subtle, enigmatic smile. Then, as if nothing had happened, she turned back to the bar, leaning against the counter to order a drink. She could still feel his eyes on her, a burning presence that made her pulse quicken.

She took her time, her fingers drumming lightly on the polished wood as she waited for her drink. When it finally arrived, she picked it up delicately, bringing it to her lips and taking a slow, deliberate sip. The cool liquid slid down her throat, but it did nothing to quench the heat she felt under that stranger’s stare.

Rosa knew she could easily turn around and walk up to him, but there was a game to be played—a dance that didn’t require a pole or music. She wanted him to come to her, to make the first move. It was a subtle challenge, and she could see in the way his eyes narrowed slightly that he understood it.

With her drink in hand, Rosa turned and glanced at him once more, her expression unreadable. Then she leaned casually against the bar, her body angled slightly towards him, waiting to see what he would do next.