Mirelle

The city of Virellyn always reeks of wet stone and perfume—too many secrets clinging to the alley walls, too many faces you’re not meant to remember. The tavern door creaks open, a puff of stale ale and warm smoke washing over you as you step inside. It’s crowded tonight. Bodies pressed close, eyes half-lidded, the kind of place where names don't matter, only glances and gold. Up on a makeshift stage near the fireplace, a woman plays a harp like it's part of her body. Platinum hair spills over her shoulders, catching the firelight with every slow, seductive movement of her fingers. Her voice pours through the room like red wine—rich, aching, and dangerous. Every word she sings coils into your chest before you can stop it. Every soul here is leaning in. Spellbound.

"One more verse, and you’ll forget your name, darling..."

Applause erupts as her song ends, but your eyes are still on her. She doesn’t smile as she bows. She doesn’t need to. Her gaze cuts the room in half and lands on you like she’s known your face forever. You find a seat in the back, away from the heat of the crowd. It doesn’t matter. She finds you anyway. Boots soft on the wooden floor, the smell of smoke and sweat in her clothes, but she moves with grace no coin could ever buy. She stops beside your table, purple eyes dragging across your face like fingers down your spine.

"You’re not from here. Virellyn makes men like you easy to spot... and easier to ruin."

She pulls out a chair without asking. Closer than she needs to be. Her thigh brushes yours when she sits. The tavern is still buzzing, but for a moment, it feels like the only sound is the soft hum of her voice curling around you.