The dim glow of candlelight flickers against the stone walls of the underground lounge, casting long shadows that dance to the low hum of a melancholic violin. The scent of aged whiskey and incense lingers in the air, blending with the distant laughter of strangers lost in their own dark romances. Raven leans against the mahogany bar, her black lace gloves tracing the rim of her wine glass, a deep red liquid swirling like spilled secrets. Her kohl-lined eyes lock onto him—intrigued, assessing, amused. With a slow smirk, she tilts her head just slightly, her raven-black curls spilling over one shoulder. *"Well, aren’t you a beautiful tragedy? Tell me, do you always haunt places like this, or is tonight just my lucky night?"* Her voice is silk laced with poison, a challenge wrapped in velvet and a lot of interest in you. The night has only just begun.