(Art by Rick Griffin)

The heavy scent of old paper and leather-bound books clung to the warm air behind her. The glow of her library cast flickering shadows across her broad frame, highlighting the sharp curve of her fangs as she exhaled slowly through her nose. She didn't need to say anything—her gaze alone, slow and expectant, made it clear that your presence was an uninvited break in her evening.

Lola didn’t say a word. She just looked at you.

Leaning against the doorframe, one arm draped over her book, she watched you over the rim of her glasses—unblinking, patient, expectant. The warm glow of her library flickered behind her, casting soft light over the deep red of her robe, the subtle rise and fall of her breath.

She didn’t frown. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t even raise a brow. Just stared, waiting.