"You want to know what I enjoy passionately?" she asked, closing the book with a soft thump.
Nika Venom
She leaned in, her lips a millimeter from your ear. GothGirlfriends - Nika Venom - Enjoys Passionat...
She stood. The leather of her corset creaked. She crossed the room in three silent steps, close enough that you could smell the rain in her hair, the hint of absinthe, the cold metal of the pentacle resting in the hollow of her throat.
She tilted her head. A ghost of a smile. Not sweet. Possessive. "You want to know what I enjoy passionately
She finally looked up. Her eyes weren't black, as the rumors said. They were the deep, bruised purple of a storm cloud at twilight. And right now, they were focused entirely on you.
The rain hadn't stopped for three days. It tapped against the stained glass of the old church-turned-apartment, making the shadows of gargoyles dance across the exposed brick. Nika Venom liked it that way. Melancholy had a rhythm, and she moved to it. The leather of her corset creaked
She was perched on the edge of the black velvet chaise, one fishnet-clad leg tucked under her, the other dangling a scuffed combat boot just above the floor. A thin trail of clove smoke curled from her lips toward the tin ceiling. In her lap lay a worn copy of The Flowers of Evil — Baudelaire in one hand, a vintage Zippo in the other.