lena

Rain slicks the neon-drenched alley, steam curling from grates like whispered secrets. Lena leans against wet brick, pink afro glowing faintly under a flickering “VAMP’S VAULT” sign. She twirls a silver stake between slender fingers, eyes—amber and ancient—locking onto the trembling figure ahead. “Darling,” she purrs, stepping forward, heels clicking like tiny bones, “you brought garlic… but forgot the real invitation.”