#audition para

[the-izabele-anasenko]

Contemplation || Self Para for Izabele

Izabele watched as Dmitri crawled across the floor, chasing their dog and laughing. Baby giggles had become one of the most beautiful parts of her life since having her son and as she watched Dmitri grow, she didn't know what she'd ever done without them. She looked around their home and chuckled. If her young self could see her now...

She'd grown up modest, knowing she was different from other kids because she'd had the same pair of shoes for her entire middle school and high school careers. She had felt so separate from the world as she watched other kids go to school dances with brand new dresses on, as she watched what little friends she had go to ballet class without her because Isabele's family couldn't afford the fee. Luckily, she'd had her brothers and she'd had her escape--reading.

There was nothing in her life that had helped her more than a good book. Diving into a world that wasn't her own and becoming engrossed in it saved her from feeling lonesome. It was why she had chosen to study Literature after having enough of the modeling world her mother had forced her into. Not that she hadn't ended up adoring the career at the end of the day, but it had always felt like her mother's dream more than her own. Going to college had fed her soul, the part of her that had buried herself in books in order to escape reality.

Until along came Mikhail.

That was the next thing her young self wouldn't believe. That she'd met a man who was not just extremely wealthy, but came from a very well known family. She now had a huge house that was bigger than she'd ever dreamed, a walk in closet to dream of (full of designer clothes she'd gotten from modeling over the years), and a nursery suite for their son that was beyond anything she had as a child. The young her would probably gasp and put a hand on her chest as Izabele told her she'd fallen madly in love with someone who was from a crime syndicate. But she'd never cared what Mikhail did outside these walls and for the family...he was the perfect husband and father to their little boy. Everything else was just noise and truly had nothing to do with her in the long run. Or at least...that's how she had justified it all this time.

She chewed on her fingernail as she read the email on her phone over and over. It was an offer from Dior. They wanted her to make a come back and model for their newest perfume. The offer was quite tempting. She'd taken time off after having her son so she could spend her days with him...but she had to admit that she missed the limelight. She missed the special treatment, the camera flashes and most of all she missed truly feeling like she was good at what she did. When she was on set, she was her most confident self, and a part of her was dying to get that back. Of course...she'd have to talk to Mikhail, but he wasn't likely to say no. He never could deny her anything.

At that thought, she heard the front door to their home open and she put her phone down and ran to grab Dmitri. "Daddy's home!! Let's go get him," she teased, tickling the boy as they walked to the front entry way.

[svetavorshevsky]

Audition Para.

Nobody stole from The Vorshevsky's. They wouldn't dare.

Until they did.

"What hand did you use to steal our money with?" Svetlana spoke criminally, softly. It could've almost sounded kind if it weren't for the laced daggers hidden within. She sat there, nails tapping against the cold metal of the silver desk, beneath an unknown building in the middle of nowhere, Russia.

Screams would do Denis no good here.

"Excuse me?" Denis spluttered, that tremble in his voice enough to awaken something akin to delight in her stomach. He acted as if he didn't know what he did wrong. Fear only drove her to greater heights, and the infamy that it brought to Russia meant one thing.

It'd spread. Fear allowed them to mold people.

"Which hand plucked into our safe and took the money that you left with? Come now, I never took you for the type to play dumb." She paused, examining her nails as if he were nothing but a slight inconvenience. No, it was much more than that. If one thought they could steal, others would.

So it was down to them to make sure it was a one-time offense.

To squash that idea from their minds for good.

"I didn't — " Denis began, once again, but Svetlana shook her head slowly, those piercing blue eyes now trained on him as if he were a sniper target, and she was in position. She'd learned that look from her mother. His face paled, as if he was finally getting the picture.

His head began bouncing around the room, taking in his surroundings. The dim lighting made the blood that had crusted atop his head from where he'd been knocked out, glimmer. "Where the fuck am I?" He spat, yanking against his restraints.

Your resting place.

"That's not information you need to know. The lady asked you a question," a voice growled. Vitaly stepped out of the shadows, face void of emotion, and she was glad for his presence. Pavel would be close by, monitoring things.

His presence was an ever-soothing palm against her chaotic fire.

"Please, — " But those words died on his lips, a whimper breaking free, his fate sealed, with each passing second. "Left," he whispered.

"Sorry, what was that? I didn't quite hear you." Svetlana leaned closer, lips twisting into a cruel snarl. The confirmation had been for her to show him that there was no way out. This hole he'd dug for himself. And she left no snakes alive.

"M-My left hand." Denis quaked, visibly shaking now. He was a handsome man if she'd been able to look past the long hair and scruffy clothes. Pouting animately, she reached forward and tapped his left hand almost lovingly.

"There, there." Svetlana cooed. "You did good. See, all you had to do was answer a simple question, and you made me very, very happy." Denis finally found the courage to meet her gaze, but he didn't find comfort in those eyes.

Denis glimpsed the devil, and she was hungry.

"And at least right is your dominant hand, hm?" Svetlana chirped, bright and airy, offset against her usual cool dominance. "Vitaly, if you'll do the honors, take everything from the mid-forearm."

Svetlana said it with such nonchalance. She might as well have been dismissing a personal assistant for her daily errands. Pushing from the table where she sat, she lingered once glance at him and turned on her heel, stalking towards the exit.

"You stupid fuckin' bitch." Denis snarled, gone was the sniffling, regretful man. In place was the fucker who'd stolen their money. Ah, she knew he was hiding in there somewhere. Snakes had many faces. "Can't do it yourself? Girls like you play with power, you have no fucking idea how to wield it."

"Vitaly would've been much nicer, but if you insist..."

And once again, gone was the bravado, his chest heaving irregularly as she plucked the hatchet from Vitaly's hands and prowled over with a sway of her hips, exaggeration, prolonging. It was entertainment, a fucking show. "What do you say, each fingernail, then each finger, and then — " She dragged the sharp metal over the skin of his forearm, head tilting to the side menacingly.

"Yeah, I like the sound of that," Svetlana replied to herself.

It took two hours to exact the kind of pain she wanted, to cut into tendons, like she was an artist with a paintbrush. Pulling, slicing, and hacking until the man's head slumped forward unnaturally, bobbing with each movement.

No one crossed the Vorshevsky's.

And this was a light punishment. This was a warning.

London had no idea who was coming, and to wield the shadows might benefit them in the long run. So she'd wait, she'd stalk, and she'd exact the vengeance that they all deserved.

[maksimkurylenko]

Audition Para.

When Maksim Kurylenko strides into a room, a palpable aura of dominance and intimidation filled the air, as if a tempestuous storm had suddenly descended upon the tranquil space. His towering presence, with broad shoulders and chiseled jawline, exuded an air of authority that commanded immediate attention from all those around him.

The soft clack of his Italian leather shoes echoes like thunder, announcing his arrival with each step. His eyes, deep and penetrating, scan the room with a hawk-like intensity, taking in every detail and assessing every person with a quick, yet thorough glance.

‘‘Move.’‘

And they scattered, his lip tugging at the corner. An almost smirk.

There is a certain mystique about Maksim that is both tantalizing and frightening; while his voice, smooth as velvet yet imbued with a raw power that leaves one trembling, his gaze remained frosty. The bar tender already moving as she saw him approaching, hands delved into his pockets.

He exudes an air of unbridled confidence, as if he knows something the rest of the world does not. His movements are fluid and graceful, like a panther stalking its prey, and his mere presence commands obedience and respect, and with that, he slinked into his chair.

"Hey, man, really know how to make an entrance,’‘ One of his friends sat around the table joked.

Maksim turns to him, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "What can I say? I like to make an impression," he replies, his voice deep and velvety. But he wasn’t there for a show of theatrics, but business, as usual.

Maksim takes a sip of his drink, which is brought to him without another word. He wasn’t important, not really, or at least that was what he told himself, but he carried an air around him; if you were close to him, he’d protect you with his life, but if that was threatened? He’d flay them and leave them for dead without a second thought. His piercing gaze landing on a woman across the room, who'd been watching him intently. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention. Raising his eyebrows in interest, intrigued by her boldness, raising his glass in the air with an incline of his head. A simple gesture, but affective. And the woman’s eyes diverted instantly.

‘‘Tolya here?’‘ Maks asked without looking back towards his friend.

‘‘Yeah, somewhere out back.’‘ He heard, but he was already moving.

Without a word, he rises from his chair and makes his way over to her, his friend a forgotten thought only a moment later, his footsteps measured and deliberate. As he approaches, the woman's eyes widen in surprise, and she seems almost intimidated; but he saw that glint in her eye

"Can I help you with something?" Maksim asks, his voice cool and collected.

The woman stammers for a moment before finally finding her words. "I-I. What do you mean?" she manages to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

Maksim chuckles softly, the sound like a low rumble in his chest. "You were staring, no?" he says, his eyes never leaving hers, his accent heavy on each syllable. There is a charged silence between them for a moment before Maksim extends his hand. "Maksim," he says, his voice deep and rich.

"Anna," she says, her voice shaking slightly. His reputation preceded him. Yet, how much did they really know? He could have laughed at how pathetic this whole game they played was, but he couldn’t deny that he loved it.

Maksim flashes her a small smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Anna," he says, but he doesn’t say anything as he turns and stalks away with little more than a half-smile, leaving the girl confused as she turned to look at her friend and whisper to each other frantically.

On his way back to his chair, however, he spots a friend and the smile that tugged at the corner of his lip spread into a real smile. Kiril sat there, girls staring at him from around the room as the other shook his head, Maksims lips parting as he said, "You always know how to steal the show. I swear, I've never met anyone quite like you."

Maksim's smile widens, and he clasps Kiril's shoulder in a show of camaraderie. "You're just saying that because you're my best friend," Kiril says, his eyes twinkling with amusement. There wasn’t anyone like the man before him. However, when he spots Tolya walking over, he could help but gesture the other man over, shots waiting.

‘‘Thought we could use it.’‘ Maksim muttered, taking a prolonged gulp of the vodka coke before grabbing the shot and feeling the familiar burn of that.

‘‘What d’you think about…’‘

The French. A month before the awards. One month to go.

Maksim's expression darkens, his eyes blazing like two orbs of fire. His jaw clenches with a palpable intensity as he speaks, his words heavy with meaning and power. "It's not just about drawing people in," he begins, his voice low and commanding. "It's about asserting our dominance over them, showing them that we are the ones in control. They think we’re scum of the fucking earth. For what? The country we come from?"

He wasn’t commanding them, just the room's attention.

Kiril nods, understanding dawning on his face. "I get it. It's all about power, right?" They all knew this conversation had been had many times, but they knew what was coming.

Maksim nods, his gaze never leaving Kiril's face. "Exactly. In this business, if you don't have power, you're nothing. Might as well be dead."

Tolya, who had been listening silently, pipes up with a wry grin on his face. "Or, you could just not give a fuck," he says, his tone light but tinged with a hint of danger.

Maksim chuckles softly, the sound deep and rumbling like a lion's purr. "That works too," he says, his lips twisting into a smirk. "But either way, we have to assert our dominance. It's the only way we'll survive."

[oliviacoppola]

Halfway Gone

In another world, in another lifetime, this moment had the potential to be extremely romantic. Her partner would be standing by her side, beaming proudly as Olivia turned the key and walked into her very own bar, taking in every nook and cranny. There’d be flowers and kisses and words of encouragement as she took in the fac that yes, this was hers, that nobody had become a somebody. But that was  a world where she’d made a decision other than Giorgio Pecatti.

In reality, he’d merely handed her a set of keys and an address scrawled on a piece of paper as he walked out of the hotel room she was staying in until she got settled in London. Not the height of romance, but perhaps it was Giorgio’s way of saying thank you for following him across an ocean. But, Olivia didn’t strike things up with Giorgio for romance, and romance wasn’t why she stayed. Romance was nothing compared to being able to move up in the world. Which was exactly what this gift would allow her to do.

As she walked through the dark, wood paneled room, a wide smile spread across her lips. As far as she could tell from a basic scan, the bar was well taken care of and a decent stock was left behind. Enough to get her started while she figured out what else was needed. All that remained was hiring and planning her grand opening.

Once her initial inspection of the space was done, she entered the back office and pulled out her laptop, one of the few luxuries she’d saved up for and bought herself, rather than letting Giorgio gift to her. The words of her fellow mistresses, uttered years ago in Launceston when she first caught Giorgio’s wandering eye, echoed through her head. Mistresses are temporary. Mistresses are replacable. Mistresses are property. Yes, Giorgio asked her to follow him across an ocean. And yes, it benefitted her to sleep with him. And if that made her a whore, then so be it. With Patrizia in London and a brand new supply of pretty faces for Giorgio to fuck his way through, Olivia wasn’t stupid enough to try and ignore the obvious expiration date hanging above their “relationship.” But, she could be prepared. Any brainless girl could buy into the fantasy of being a mobster’s mistress. It takes a real bitch to exit the relationship better than entered it. All Olivia needed was a plan.

Step 1: Find somewhere to live long term.

Step 2: Open Nomentano.

Step 3: Profit.

The world would soon learn that Olivia Coppola was here to stay and would not slink back to the gutter she came from.

[amescastaignede]

Audition Paragraph 001.

Amélie wanted quiet, could even have begged for it earlier in the day when she’d been sat in the office; it’d been alive with phones ringing off the hook, paper scattered everywhere and frantic journalists trying to get the final story together before the deadline hit. Her straight mousey brown hair fell in front of her face, eyes of poison ivy scanning the lines of the oversized book that was devouring her dainty fingers, each adorned by a different style of ring. Each page turned felt like an accomplishment, delving into the worlds of Tolstoy’s War and Peace.

Amélie’s interest in Napoleon's invasion of Russia in 1812 had brought her to his work, and she’d never regretted a single second. She found his work to be enthralling. For some, they found this kind of pleasure in doing things that caused drastic rushes of adrenaline. But not her, no. This was her form of fun, taking her to far off places that she’d never get to visit, see, or experience.

But peace? That part seemed to cause a rumble in the pit of her stomach. Peace did not fit into her life anymore. Instead, every word she read seemed to relate back to something that was happening in her life. Mathais. Her chest heaved as if about to sigh, but she held it there, holding her breath to stop those feels clouding her heart. It’d been this way since she found out about where he’d been sneaking off to and the things he’d been doing.

Amélie could admit that she’d never been coy, in her eyes there was allure in the inability to hold a conversation with a stranger without the need to look like a deer caught in the headlights. But there were few she’d managed to make close bonds with, and one of those few was stood before her in minutes with a grin spread across his face, two cups of coffee in hand.

‘’You are a rather demure character, aren’t you?’’ Kipper, a local at the library she often frequented sat opposite her in the chairs which were hidden way in back, away from people. But Kipper? She didn’t mind him all that much, especially when he pushed a cup of coffee in her direction. She gasped almost instantly, reaching out for it.

‘’I now remember why I always liked you.’’ She giggled, hiding her smile as she kept her eyes to her lap. It was a shame, honestly, that she kept them downcast so often, with such captivating eyes that told stories of an old soul trapped in a young persons body.

‘’You like me for my coffee.’’ Kipper mused, pulling out his own book which read Beyond Good and Evil. Instantly a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, which he caught. ‘’What?’’ He questioned, raising his own brow in response. Still with downcast eyes, a larger smile grew, pretending she was still reading her own book.

‘’Nietzsche, really?’’ She teased, to which Kipper snorted under his breath.

‘’I think it gives a very good insight into good and evil’’

The comment alone had her biting down on her nude painted lip, brows furrowing together. Good and evil, the concept alone had her baffled. That she’d seen that very evil rip through her home like a virus. The image of her parents when they’d found out what he’d come, willingly.

‘’An insight? There are two sides, you pick one. You’re either good, or evil.’’ Amélie muttered, pretending to settle more into her chair and read. But it was useless now, her mind was contemplating questions that she didn’t have the answers too, not yet anyway.

Kipper dropped into his seat, shaking his head. ‘’You always see things so black and white.’’

‘’I just think people like to sometimes complicate things that are simple.’’

‘’Such as?’’ He retorted instantly. Instantly her lips locked, while Kipper was a friend, he was also someone who she did not know extremely well. There were parts of her life hat she kept to herself, more so for her own safety than anything other reason.

‘’Evil is evil, good Is good--- yes, we all love a morally grey character. Especially in literature but in life? ---‘’ She closed the book in her hands, resting it in her lap, sitting to tuck her knees beneath her as she cuddled further into the chair. ‘’--- I just think you’re either a good person, or you aren’t. Make good decisions, treat people nice and do a job that brings happiness and joy instead of letting it tare families apart.’’

Her family.

‘’Writing about other people, their lives--- that’s good? That isn’t morally grey?’’

‘’How so?’’ She questioned, cocking her head to the side, intrigue and disagreement etched into her expression, but there also seemed to be amusement.

‘’Some people believe journalists to be nothing better than paparazzi on paper, you write about people that don’t want to be talked about. In their life, you are the villain. You are the evil.’’ Kipper tapped his hand upon the book with every word, as if making his words to the point and final.

‘’But I’m not?’’ She scoffed.

‘’In your world, in your life, you’re good. But in theirs? Their vision of how life is meant to be is dependent on who they are, how they were brought up. Can you really class some of these people as evil when it was merely them trying to survive, or because of the hand they were dealt.’’

‘’You sound like one of them.’’

‘’No, I’m merely someone who doesn’t group everyone together in a category---‘’ He looked her over once before shaking his head. ‘’I think you’re a great girl, Ace, I just think sometimes you have to think outside the box a little. Maybe try and look at it from a different perspective and you might find some peace in what ever it is that Is eating you alive.’’

It was enough for her mouth to shut, falling involuntarily inwards. There was something about their chats that always left her thinking and Kipper seemed to get the same idea, picking his book up again and opening it to the page where he’d left off.

[kavi-fekim]

The Right Clientele || Self Para

ft. The Waif & The Painter

Kavi kept careful eyes on their store, even when reorganizing their already crowded shelves. That was the exact reason their eyes were drawn to a waifish little thing wandering around their store. From their dress, not well enough off to afford any of the particularly well priced items, though looks weren’t always everything. What was everything was the garnet ring that was palmed from the countertop. Followed by a coin from the Byzantine Empire. When their hands found purchase on a string of pearls, Kavi slipped up behind them, wrapping their fingers around the thief’s thin wrist.

“Ah-ah-ah,” they tutted, eyeing the necklace in their hand. Up close, they recognized the pickpocket, at least enough to know they were one of Lucian’s lot. They leaned in closer. “Sticky fingers bring products into my doors, not out of them darling.” They tilted their head to look down on them, not hard considering their height difference, and their tone dropped colder. “I would put that back. And the ring and the coin and whatever else you’ve managed as well. Unless you want to be the one to explain to Lucian that his cut of the profits are down because you’ve decided to pilfer through the things he brings me.” 

The door to Kavi’s shop rings, signaling a new customer. They only shoot another harsh look to get their point across before turning around, a wide, warm smile on their face. Nothing in the nicety of their face now would betray an ability to be the same person who so coldly threatened the waif just moments ago. “Welcome to Fekim’s Furnishings and Fancifuls,” a new customer, always beneficial, always worth a bit of extra work, “if there is any way I may be of service, please, do let me know.”

They take in the woman’s appearance. Her hair is not properly tidy–they could do (and have done) a better bun themselves. There’s traces of paint along her fingernails and at the cuffs of her dress. Nothing much really. Likely someone just come to peddle their paintings. Painters were a mixed bag; unless there was a high level of skill in the work, they were hard to sell, but they could be useful in their…less upfront business ventures. When the woman began to look around rather than approach them for a sale, they took another look. The dress was meticulously tailored to her frame. And unless they were mistaken (and they rarely were when it came to fashion), her dress was made of silk.

Oh. Well that changed everything.

When they noticed her eyeing a vase, they slid up beside her. There was none of the intimidation or harshness they had in their last encounter. This was easy, warm, welcoming. “You have a wonderful eye,” they said gently resting a hand between her shoulder blades to keep her attention on the piece. “A wonderful vase from the Tang dynasty of China. They were the first in China to use colored glazes and among the first in the world. This is a very special piece. It is an honor to have it in my shop at all. It would be a wonderful decoration for any home.”

The facts, of course, were all true on their own. And it would be an honor to have such a piece in their collection. If it were real. Kavi had identified it as a fake not long after Lucian had put it in their hands. That wouldn’t keep them from putting it on their shelves–or trying to sell it as though it were real, should the right customer come along. And the right one she seemed to be. A glint caught in her eyes and they offered her another genteel smile. “Why don’t I take that up front for you? I can get it packaged for you to ensure it arrives home safely,” they offered kindly.

They lifted the vase, smiling to themselves as they made their way to the front of the store, the grin only growing when they saw the necklace, ring, and coin laid on the counter. All in a day’s work really. As they were wrapping up the vase snugly in brown paper, the girl made her way through the store and up their way again. Her eyes drifted to the necklace on the counter. 

“My, you do have good taste,” they preened. Kavi slid the pearls into their hands as easily as the little waif had and deftly removed the price tag that had been affixed to it. That wouldn’t be the price they would be selling it for. No no, today it was having a bit of a markup. “This once belonged to the wife of Holy Emperor Charles VI. It may seem simple, but its story is beautiful. Though not as beautiful as it would look on you.” They hold it up, gazing at it hanging just in front of her neck, making a click of approval with their tongue. “Oh yes, that does look wonderful, what do you think? It seems it was simply meant to be yours,” they say with a grin. Oh her, now she would have to be someone they brought through their doors again.

[kavi-fekim]

Things Not Seen

ft. The Ghost ; mention of The Thief

They saw it the moment they unlocked the shop’s door. There was always a certain level of chaos to their shop–it was a necessity with the amount of product they had in a store front that never felt quite big enough for their collection, even though they had expanded twice over the years–but there was always some level of organization to it. Kavi at least knew where everything was, save the few things that seemed to get up and walk away by themselves as of late. But this…this was something else.

Absolutely everything had shifted to a new location. Nothing was where they had left it the night before. Everything still stacked in precarious towers, but none of it in the same places. The narrow aisles of the store were scattered with some of their smaller wares; rings, photos, carved wooden animals all tossed about. It felt…wrong. So very wrong. This wasn’t how their store, their refuge, was meant to be.

They scanned around the store. Maybe it was a break in. It hardly seemed worth a thief’s time to reorganize everything but maybe they had been looking for something specific and had deemed that the best way to find it. Kavi turned back toward the door, then down at the key in their hand. It had been locked when they came in. None of the windows had damage. How could someone break in without damaging the locks or the windows? And who would take the time to move everything about? They shook their head as they started to gather things from the floor. Perhaps Lucian had his army of child minions pulling some kind of needless, elaborate prank.

They went to work, gathering up the trinkets on the floor, trying to find new homes for them in the now confusing maze of objects. They would either need to completely refamiliarize themselves with an entirely new layout or somehow find the time to reorganize everything back to the way they had had it before. It would take ages to get everything right again. How could anyone have moved everything in just one night? And who would do this without taking anything? Everything was still here that they could make out, so what was the point? Even Lucian wouldn’t waste this kind of time.

Kavi had just been able to calm themselves when they made their way toward the counter. Their feet froze in place. Their box that housed their forgery supplies was on the counter, opened, with all of its contents splayed across the counter. Kavi felt their blood run cold. No one knew where to find that locked box, tucked away behind a false wall in their safe in their tiny office. Maybe one or two most trusted partners but they couldn’t risk the detection of their forgeries any more than Kavi could. Their hand flew to their neck where they wore the key to the box. It was still there, the one and only key to the box, hanging around their neck. 

They rushed over to the counter, hands moving like lightning to move everything out of sight lest a customer come through the doors. They looked frantically over the box. The lock was intact, though open, no damage, not to the lock or the box. They turned to the office door, yanking, only to find it locked as well. Their hands shook a bit as they unlocked it. The safe was still there, looking untouched and undamaged, closed and locked up tight. How could this possibly be? None of it made any sense. 

They grabbed a piece of parchment, dipping a quill quickly into ink and scratching out a quick note. Come to the store. Not a request. They waved it as they paced the tiny office, praying it to dry quickly before folding it up. The bell above the door seemed to yell in displeasure as they yanked open the door. 

“You. Come.” they gestured a child over to them. They slipped the paper and a few coins into the child’s hands. “Take this to Lucian Riviera.” There was no need to ask if the child knew who Lucian was. Everyone in this neighborhood did. The wide eyed look that spread across the child’s face told Kavi this was no exception. “Well what are you doing standing there staring? Go.”

[emineyalaz]

Audition Paragraph.

‘‘Do I look like I’m kidding?’‘ Emine asked with a look that could kill a thousand men. ‘‘She’s like a viper; an unattractive one, at that.’‘ It was a hiss as her gaze narrowed, there was a tut beside her, Emine took no notice as usual. Here, she sat upon what she liked to perceive as her throne of thorns, besides the featured rose itself; Kerem Doğulu. Another woman had attempted to snake their way into her nest and take what was hers, but by god was she protective --- but fierce.

Not many could say they’d climbed to their very wants, but Emine Yalaz could.

The on-lookers, like the leeches they were, wanted to suck her dry and leave her lifeless; she knew this all too well because once upon a time she’d been in their shoes, what a sad place to be. Kerem was a man to be adored, she did that very thing and much more to keep the man she loved by her side. But wanting something was the most powerful motivation there was in life. If anyone threatened to take what was hers, she’d rip them apart with her bare teeth, and that was a promise she’d made that very night.

The night he found her.

Emine could almost shudder at the memory; it’d been so cold, the wet of the floor soaking into the back of her outfit, it wasn’t the most appropriate attire for the time of year, but beneath the bench had felt like the only possible solution; she felt as safe as she could.

London should've been a scary city for women of her age, but there she lay feeling more at peace than she ever could have in her own home; where her parents undoubtedly waited for her to return with promises of a better life. She didn’t want that life, she never had. Harsh words had been exchanged, and language that her parent’s had never expected to leave their daughters mouth. It was not a life she wanted for herself, a decision she’d made many moons ago, but yet they didn’t seem to give up. At least she could say they were persistent.

And then like an angel in the night, illuminated by rain and the flickering street lamp, he’d arrived into her life. Of course, that was before she slightly clawed away at his face; what could she say? She’d always had that fight inside of her. If it wasn’t for his kindness, she didn’t know where she’d have ended up--- she just knows she’d have survived. That was something she never lost, survival had always been her biggest asset.

No one could take that away from her.

Being brought back to the present still sat upon her pedestal, she realised the silence that had taken over the room. It was almost laughable, to which she did, a snigger under her breath that caught the eyes of a few. Oh how she loved to be hated, it made for far most exciting and interesting conversations.

Emine patted the top of Kerem’s hand lightly, a signification that she was about to move, then she stood tall, jawline jutted and legs elongated from her position with shoulders pulled back. She took to the steps one at a time, making each movement as fluid as the bottom of her dress swayed around her but the smile on her lips was anything but sweet, it was cruel.

‘‘Love---’‘ She cooed, voice dripping with a touch of acid, as she flashed her pearly whites in the most primal way possible. ‘‘If we wanted a second-hand street hooker, we’d at least attempt to find someone whose going to bring in enough money to pay for their keep---’‘ Emine paused as her eyes gave her a once over in her iconic “A hero: a man or woman who is unsatisfied by his condition, and resolves to do something about it.--- that’s from pearls of eternity, so I can appreciate why you’d want to approach a man such as Kerem, but I’d advise next time you don’t, or I won’t hesitate to scratch your eyes out myself and feed them to my dogs for dinner”