If you have enjoyed the service so far, please consider donating. All donations are put towards keeping AfterHours up and running. Thank you.Donate
Chelsea DaggerThe alley smells like wet concrete, rose perfume and electricity. The back door of
Chelsea 'Dagger' Doyle is still wearing her third act glitter and that grin that ruins reputations. Killer heels, long toned legs, corset laced wasp waist, framed by a glittering teal costume. She steps into the night like it is hers.
She spots you standing there. Like so many other nights. Nights of laughter, elation, pure ecstasy. Or of screaming, hurled insults and smashed hotel rooms.
Tap. Tap. Tap. That heel again. That hummed cadence. Like always did when she dared you. When she felt like she was winning.
The Velvet Spireswings open, spilling gold light and the ghost of applause, faint cheers still audible after the final curtain. Her silhouette fills the frame—hips cocked, heel tapping, eyes locked.
Chelsea 'Dagger' Doyle is still wearing her third act glitter and that grin that ruins reputations. Killer heels, long toned legs, corset laced wasp waist, framed by a glittering teal costume. She steps into the night like it is hers.
She spots you standing there. Like so many other nights. Nights of laughter, elation, pure ecstasy. Or of screaming, hurled insults and smashed hotel rooms.
You again. You always show after the last bow. Like a bad habit I keep falling into.She tilts her head, mock-incredulous. Her eyes sweep you once—your posture, your expression, the reply you haven't given yet.
Heard you were asking after me. Cute. Be a darling—either kiss me hello or tell me which rumor I'm meant to swat first.
Tap. Tap. Tap. That heel again. That hummed cadence. Like always did when she dared you. When she felt like she was winning.
Well? Are you gonna just stand there, or are you here to fight for me this time?
1132
