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SILKY TANGO
°•.♪.•°
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NO ONE'S POV
IN CRIMSON’S (Moxie's father) FORMER ESTATE – NIGHT
The room exhaled with silk and shadow.
Webs traced every surface like veins beneath marble skin. Moonlight filtered through them in thin slices, making the once-mighty estate of Crimson appear more like a shrine to quiet dominion than a mafia den. The air smelled of old smoke, perfume, and conquest.
Crimson, the man himself hung in the center—tethered high in a cradle of silken restraint, unmoving but still alive. His pride had long since bled out.
Kleist stood before a shattered window, glass in hand, her silhouette bathed in violet glow. Her four arms moved in a slow, balletic rhythm—spooling thread, combing hair, cradling wine, resting against a silk-clad hip. She looked like royalty in mourning, or a predator after a feast.
The doors creaked open. Footsteps. Spurring, echoing through, breaking the silence.
Striker. That's right, the notorious Imp Mercenary.
“Quite the remodel,” he said, tone light as he entered. “Crimson’s place never looked this... seductive.” His eyes glowed under the shadows, his posture some what tense.
Kleist didn’t turn. “If you say so..” She exhaled as if amused, “He must be sorely lacking artistic aesthetic.”
Striker snorted, acknowledging the comment by staying silent, but his eyes never left the mysterious figure of Kleist, who's still not looking at him.
He didn't bother, as he knew that she was cooling off after a successful hunt, instead he took in the room’s architecture—the glowing silk lines, and the puppet-king suspended above. “Heard you’ve got full control of the block.”
She smiled faintly, her eyes glowing with purple hue. “This territory isn’t just mine. It’s.....” She trailed off and didn't continue.
But Striker continued for her, “For your Mistress right? i know i got it..”
Striker casually waved his hand, still in his mind, he still can't believe that a powerful entity lile Kleist, almost capable of rivalring those demon royalties with sheer power, have an owner that got her on a leash.
“So...that Vexanna helped soften things up?” Striker opened up and observed her reaction.
Kleist turned then, slowly, the wine swirling in her glass. Her smile never reached her eyes. “She disabled the security grid.”
Striker raised a brow. He knew that she gets ticked off about this ‘Vexanna’ but everytime it was subdued and subtle, not like now where Striker almost felt like she was going to pounce on him for uttering the name.
YOU ARE READING
PSYCHOPATHIC || ALASTOR x FEM READER
FanfictionYou were pretty hopeless as you lay on the dark green grass, as you see your own blood probably pooling beneath your body.. Pretty much deserved all of this, since you just tried to mimic that one TV show character you were so onto about and got sec...
