She reached out, not to touch your face, but to brush a stray hair from your collar. Her knuckles grazed your jugular — deliberately.
"Chaos," she whispered. "But only the beautiful kind. The kind that breaks the clock. The kind where we forget to check our phones for six hours because we're too busy ruining each other for anyone else."
She leaned in, her lips a millimeter from your ear. GothGirlfriends - Nika Venom - Enjoys Passionat...
Nika Venom
Nika Venom didn't chase. She allowed .
From the doorway, you watched her. The way the silver rings on her fingers caught the candlelight. The sharp line of her black eyeliner, winging out like a raven's feather. The faintest hint of a fang when she bit her lower lip, lost in a stanza about decay and desire.
"You're staring again," she said, not looking up. Her voice was low, a contralto that vibrated like a cello string pulled too tight. She reached out, not to touch your face,
She finally looked up. Her eyes weren't black, as the rumors said. They were the deep, bruised purple of a storm cloud at twilight. And right now, they were focused entirely on you.