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     The singular olive was stirred into the gin concoction, slicing through the clear liquid with ease as Celine deliberately played with the contents of her drink. She had been sat in the bar for well over an hour, although the time had flashed by in an instant and she had barely noticed the growing crowds. The warm body sat beside her at the bar talked, and she was in a decent enough mood to indulge in conversation.  

                                                            ❛  Is that so?  ❜  

Over the years, the vaympire had committed many sins, taking life into her own hands in an inhuman way.  ❛ The Devil and I, are on a first name basis. Dear Lucifer is an old friend,  ❜  she smirked at the fair-haired human, noting the sweet scent of her mortal blood. No cocktail could compare.   

       The thick fog around them hung heavily, draping over the surrounding forestry in plumes of pale smoke. The witch’s words stilled her, form statuesque as though she were a marble figurine. It was a stance she took when observing her prey, a slither of amusement tugging at the corners of her bowed lips as she watched them walk directly into her trap. It was only then that she pounced when it was too late for them to lurch in panic.  

Céline was still trying to take a measure of the words, the irony a dead weight against her chest. Even when she was a mere mortal, she was never one for simply giving in.  ❛  I never do.  ❜

She rolled her shoulders out of habit rather than need and turned to the archaic witch with bony arms crossed against her chest, the pale while fabric of her jacket barely a contrast to her cool flesh.  ❛  Out of the two of us, I wager that you would lose your nerve first.  ❜

       " Probably. ”  The town was full of many peculiarities, shadows crept silently around paint-chipped walls, embedding themselves further into the foundation until there was nothing left but dark decay. It had been a beacon for the dreadful, and so the illness had swept over the land and infected. Law abiding citizens might attempt to push against the disease, and at the heart of that was surely the sheriff. 

Licking her dead lips, she smirked at him and narrowed her gaze. “ You know, I have an affinity for the mind, ” she began, and then swept her eyes slowly over him. Mortals were easily pliable, like plasticine that she could shape into her very own collection of personalised toys. It would take so little to peek inside, to pull carefully at the strings and rumple the lines between illusion and reality. 

 “ Be careful, sheriff, I might just be tempted to take a look.”

       A neat-brow arched with hollow amusement, her cherry stained lips crinkled into a half smile which was barely distinguishable in the low light, and she let out a faint scoff. A prison was one way to put it, but then she had never seen a warden walk around with the keys to secure her freedom. “ What sins are those? ” she purred with a faint French lilt to the tone of her voice, her eyes drifting over the tall glass of aged red wine - a hue not too dissimilar to her favourite beverage. 

“ Your words suggest some measure of moral fibre, of which I have none. I have little time or patience for regret and guilt. I suggest that you save evaluations for a physiatrist who is paid to analyse others, for I doubt they would share your view. ”