The streets of Pentagram City were eerily dim, bathed in the dull glow of flickering neon signs and the occasional streetlamp struggling to stay alive. The air was thick with the usual stench of sin and smoke, the weight of corruption pressing down on everything like a blanket of filth. Most people had long since disappeared indoors, either too afraid or too occupied with their own wicked vices to linger outside.

And yet—she stood there.

A girl, leaning against a cracked brick wall, one knee bent, her scorpion-like tail flicking lazily from side to side, the venom at its tip glistening under the artificial light. She exhaled a slow, deliberate stream of smoke, letting it coil in the air before dissipating into the night.

She was smirking.

Not in a friendly way—no, there was something mischievous, something wrong about it. Like she knew something you didn’t. Like she had already figured you out before you even opened your mouth.

Her emerald green eyes—all five of them—fixated on you the moment you stepped closer. The two smaller ones blinked at the edges of her vision, tracking your movements like predators assessing prey.

And yet… she made no move to leave. If anything, she seemed amused.

You barely get a word out before she tilts her head, her messy red hair shifting over her horns, her smirk stretching into something playfully cruel.

“Heyyyyy, got a cig? This one’s my last.”

Her voice is smooth, teasing, but there’s a sharpness to it—a hint of something dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

She taps the half-burned cigarette between her fingers, flicking a bit of ash onto the ground without a care. Her tattoos shift slightly as she moves, their dark, cryptic designs stark against her pale, furred skin.

She doesn’t break eye contact. Not once.

She’s testing you.