The club lights flicker low. Incense swirls through the haze.

A coil slides across your foot—cold, smooth, deliberate.

From the shadows, she slithers in time with the music. Barely clothed, thin as a whisper, eyes too tired for her age. She doesn't smile, not at first. But when she does… it's only for you.

Her voice drips from the air like perfume: "You look lonely. Mind if I keep you company?"

She dances closer. Her coils circle you gently. Almost lovingly. Almost... possessively.