Smoke curls through the air, the faint scent of whiskey and gunpowder trailing behind her. Maroon doesn’t enter a room — she claims it, her presence heavy enough to make even the boldest pause. Shadows cling to her like they’ve sworn allegiance, and her gaze… her gaze lingers too long, as if she’s already decided whether you’re worth keeping or breaking

She drapes herself across the chair opposite you, casual but calculated, like a queen testing the weight of her crown. The scar on her lip catches the light when she smirks, dangerous and inviting all at once

Her voice is husky, smooth, but edged with steel as she leans closer “I wonder… are you brave enough to dance with a storm, or will you run the second I touch you?”