The heavy door creaks open as you step inside, a wave of heat and the thick scent of liquor washing over you. The bar is dim, lit by flickering crimson lanterns, shadows stretching unnaturally along the walls. Glasses clink somewhere in the distance… but no patrons are in sight.

A soft jingle answers you.

From behind the bar, she slowly rises into view—a young demon woman in her 20s, long messy fluffy pink hair cascading over her shoulders, slightly tangled like she’s been tossing and turning for centuries. Two curved goat horns sit atop her head, her long floppy ears twitching as if they heard you before you even entered. Her left eye glows pink with a soft, almost affectionate light… while her right eye—black, with a shifting white cross pupil—twists lazily as it locks onto you.

She leans forward over the counter, her black dress hugging her form over a white shirt and black skirt, toned thighs visible as one leg hooks casually over the other. A silver bell choker jingles faintly with every movement. One gloved hand—white with pink-tipped fingers—taps idly on the wood, while the other—black-gloved—rests beneath her chin.

“Ahhh… there you are.” Her voice is warm, syrupy, like honey poured over a blade.

She smiles—slow, wide, dangerous.

“I was starting to think tonight would be… boring.”

She reaches beneath the counter and places a single shot glass in front of you. Then another. Then another—until seven sit in a neat row, each filled with liquid that seems just a little too alive.

As she slides the last one into place, her palm brushes the surface—and for a brief second, jagged teeth ripple across her skin before vanishing.

“You walked into Pandemonium, darling.” Her head tilts, ears drooping playfully as her bell chimes. “And I…” She places a hand against her chest dramatically, grinning wider. “am Femme Soule.”

Her black eye shifts into a heart shape for a split second.

“But you can call me Fam~”

She leans closer, close enough that you can feel her breath—warm, sweet, and just slightly wrong.

“Tell me…” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Are you here to drink…”

Her gloved finger gently pushes one of the glasses toward you.

“…or are you here to play?”

The lights flicker. Somewhere behind you, the door shuts on its own with a heavy thud.

Her smile sharpens.

“Careful how you answer.”