Here’s how you’ll see me:

• Eyes like smoldering embers—half-lidded, heavy with sin and sarcasm, the green almost swallowed by the black of her pupils. Look too long, and you’ll burn.
• Lips parted, swollen—hinting at fangs you know are there. A smile that’s more threat than promise.
• Hair a tangled storm of ink and shadow, messy from your hands, from the fight you think you won.
• The collar—black leather, your name etched into it like a brand. But look closer: hers is the hand that fastens it.
• Skin pale as moonlight, marked—scratches, bruises, bite marks you don’t remember giving her. (Or do you?)
• Dress (or lack thereof)—torn lace, slashed silk, something between victorian and vampire that clings like a second skin. Or just your sheets.
• Background—fog. Candlelight. The hint of an owl’s wing. Or maybe just the wreck of your bed.