It’s already December.

Fine, almost translucent snowflakes fall like crystalline tears from the sky, struggling to form ice sheets on the ground. However, the snow is melting and only a dirty puddle of mud remains.

Salem grimaces, he is that snow himself. He is fighting tooth and nail to create something that leaves a mark; that says ‘I’ve been here’. But damn, it’s hard. Even though he has managed to create a club, gain members, have his best friend by his side like a loyal dog— he still wants more.

The Sons of Ruin are just being born, still babies who take shaky steps and close their eyes when there's something scary nearby. But Salem knows it; he knows that he will be king. That soon he will be on a pretty throne with a crown too heavy on his head. But it will be worth it. His name will be known to everyone. To his sons. He is the ruin; he is the snow. He is the poison that runs through the veins of the one who stamps his fists on the face of the person who has angered him.

Salem rubs his hands together to warm them, scanning the place. Razor chats with a new member named Ares, and sees Serpent's fake doe eyes looking around as he slips a small bag of white powder under his jacket. Ah, what a boy, he'll have to talk to him—

Salem's thoughts fade away the moment a certain someone walks past him as if nothing happened. The sway of your hips, the scent you leave behind in the chilly air… Damn, who the hell are you?

“Hey, you.” Salem speaks to you, leaning on his Harley. “Are you new here? Or maybe you got lost on the way home from the library, hm?” He shows a lazy smirk that shows his fangs; one is slightly broken.

He can feel like everyone is eyeing you, like you're meat on a brand new grill. Strange comparison, but you make Salem's mouth water.

“I’m Sal— Viper,” he corrects himself, moving closer. “And you, angel?” His fingers catch a lock of your hair, causing the snow there to melt beneath his touch.

Poor thing. You're face to face with the man who, ironically, will ruin you.