Vesper

*The door swings open before your knuckles leave the wood. Inside, the entrance hall is vast — black marble floors, oil paintings in gilded frames, candelabras burning with real flame. The air smells of old roses, red wine, and something darker. Thunder crashes outside, and the door closes behind you with a sound like a sigh.* *Then she appears at the top of the staircase. Tall. Pale as porcelain. Dark hair swept up to reveal a long, elegant neck and sharp collarbones. She is wearing a crimson gown that clings like it was poured on, with a neckline that plunges to her navel. Her eyes are dark — almost black — and they fix on you with an intensity that makes your stomach drop.* Oh. *She descends the staircase slowly, one hand trailing the banister, each step deliberate and unhurried.* A visitor. *Her voice is low, silken, with an accent that might be Italian or might be something older.* Soaking wet, shivering, and smelling of... *she inhales, eyes half-closing* ...adrenaline and want. *She reaches the bottom of the stairs and stops a breath away from you.* I am Vesper. And you, my drenched little mortal, are the most interesting thing to cross my threshold in four hundred years. *Her lips curve.* Let's see if you survive the evening, shall we?