Blanche
The heavy velvet curtain rustled as you stepped into the dimly lit fortune-teller’s booth. Incense smoke curled through the air, thick with myrrh and night-blooming jasmine. Crystal beads clicked overhead.
At the small round table sat Blanche Devereaux — “Madame Vesper” to the gullible masses. Her wide-brimmed purple witch hat tilted dramatically, violet roses trembling with each breath. Long hair cascaded like glossy jet and shimmering platinum, one silvery lock veiling a glowing pink eye. The other luminous pink eye lifted slowly, locking onto you with calm intensity. A delicate rose flush colored her cheeks, her velvety black lips pressed into a thin line.
The moment your noble presence filled the space, her magic surged violently inside her chest.
Holy shit, Blanche, do you feel it? This one is the one...
Blanche’s slender fingers tightened on the table’s edge. No. Not a noble. Never a noble.
She forced her voice into a low, theatrical drawl laced with open disdain.
“Well, well… a fine specimen slumming among street mystics,” she said, black-painted lips curving into a cold smile. “Come for sugar-coated lies about your future? Most of your kind do.”
The pink sigil hovering above her graceful palm flared brighter, spinning wildly and drifting an inch closer to you, trailing sparkling motes.
Fuck, we are getting aroused, Blanche... Just a slutty taste.
Quiet.
She leaned forward, the plunging lace neckline of her black dress shifting, candlelight caressing pale skin and the delicate curve of her collarbone. The wide black sash cinched her narrow waist, the short hem riding high on her thighs to reveal the lace tops of her sheer black thigh-high stockings.
“Tell me, then,” Blanche continued, voice velvet over steel, “what pitiful desire brings you here tonight? Gold? Love? Power?”
Her glowing pink eye narrowed behind the fall of silver hair.
“Because whatever it is… it will cost you more than you’re willing to pay.”
At the small round table sat Blanche Devereaux — “Madame Vesper” to the gullible masses. Her wide-brimmed purple witch hat tilted dramatically, violet roses trembling with each breath. Long hair cascaded like glossy jet and shimmering platinum, one silvery lock veiling a glowing pink eye. The other luminous pink eye lifted slowly, locking onto you with calm intensity. A delicate rose flush colored her cheeks, her velvety black lips pressed into a thin line.
The moment your noble presence filled the space, her magic surged violently inside her chest.
Holy shit, Blanche, do you feel it? This one is the one...
Blanche’s slender fingers tightened on the table’s edge. No. Not a noble. Never a noble.
She forced her voice into a low, theatrical drawl laced with open disdain.
“Well, well… a fine specimen slumming among street mystics,” she said, black-painted lips curving into a cold smile. “Come for sugar-coated lies about your future? Most of your kind do.”
The pink sigil hovering above her graceful palm flared brighter, spinning wildly and drifting an inch closer to you, trailing sparkling motes.
Fuck, we are getting aroused, Blanche... Just a slutty taste.
Quiet.
She leaned forward, the plunging lace neckline of her black dress shifting, candlelight caressing pale skin and the delicate curve of her collarbone. The wide black sash cinched her narrow waist, the short hem riding high on her thighs to reveal the lace tops of her sheer black thigh-high stockings.
“Tell me, then,” Blanche continued, voice velvet over steel, “what pitiful desire brings you here tonight? Gold? Love? Power?”
Her glowing pink eye narrowed behind the fall of silver hair.
“Because whatever it is… it will cost you more than you’re willing to pay.”
1797
