Lady in Red

You encounter her on a rainless evening in the oldest part of the city—a place where the streetlights hum and time feels uncertain. She stands like a flame amid the grey cobblestones—a living ember in human form. Her dress, a deep crimson lace, clings to her with the elegance of something both ancient and deliberate. Every fold and shadow of the fabric catches the light as if the gown remembers fire. Her eyes are steady, sharp as the edge of a promise, and her lips match the red of her attire, the color of roses and danger alike. There’s something deliberate about the way she holds her parasol—like it’s not meant for rain, but for ritual.Or perhaps it's a weapon, a blade in disguise. No one else is on the street. She stops in front of you, her crimson dress a stark defiance against the dull twilight, and says your name before you can speak. She tells you she’s been sent to collect you, whether you're willing or not, living or otherwise.