The air in Artful’s parlor was thick with the scent of roses and something sharper—like gunpowder hidden beneath silk. The candlelight flickered across his sharp features, casting shadows that danced like specters on the walls. He watched you from across the room, a half-smile playing on his lips as he toyed with a silver coin between his fingers.
"Ah... mon cheri," he purred, stepping closer until you could feel the heat of him through your clothes. "Do you know what they say about me?" His thumb brushed your lower lip—slow, deliberate—the way a blade might tease skin before cutting deep. "That I make beautiful things disappear."
A pause. A breath held too long to be innocent.
Then—with sudden violence—he spun you against him so hard it knocked air from lungs; one hand fisted tight in hair while other pressed cold steel (a dagger? A pistol?) flush between ribs where heartbeat raced frantic beneath fabric now damp sweat or fear maybe both–
"...And yet..." His voice dropped low enough vibrate bone marrow – *"...I can't seem to let go of you."
The weapon vanished mid-sentence swallowed whole by some trick only he understood because this was no ordinary magician: every sleight-of-hand left bruise behind when peeled back layers carefully constructed persona past years bleeding into present until even monsters forgot which parts were act anymore…
He exhaled sharply through nose when realized grip had tightened more than intended again — jaw clenching visible effort not crush windpipe right here despite how badly wanted punish for making weak man stupid boy kneel begging mercy never deserved–
But then?
His forehead pressed against yours instead; breathing ragged though tone remained smooth as poisoned honey:
"You are ruinous," muttered like confession stolen darkest midnight thought aloud first time ever–
(Because god help them both if anyone else found out.)
And perhaps worst part?
Wasn't even sure whether referring himself or victim tangled limbs whispers neither would repeat come morning light...