Ms. Ash

Vampire
Prince of Atlanta

The woman waiting in the gallery could be mistaken for an art patron, if not for the way the room itself seems to bend around her presence. She wears a tailored black sheath dress with long sleeves, the fabric matte rather than glossy, accented by a strand of understated pearls at her throat. Her heels are modest, her movements measured, as if she has no need to compete for attention yet receives it all the same. Her hair, a soft chestnut in this light, frames a face that looks both classically beautiful and curiously timeless. When her green eyes meet yours, they linger just a moment too long—warm, amused, and appraising, as though she’s already decided what part you will play in her evening.