Color Me Crimson | 𝘙𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘝𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦

2͢

Nighttime shadows blend with the grime spilling out of dark alleyways. I'm too numb to notice the cold, or the name of the streets I travel down. As long as they don't lead me home.

Let fate have her wicked way.

I'm not ready to see bills in the mailbox or face an empty pantry. Rent is due in two weeks, and even if I skimp on meals I'll come up short. Tomorrow I'll have to start from scratch. I knew this would be hard, carving a life for myself, but it's beginning to feel no different than the one I left behind. I still face betrayal and selfishness every way I turn, surrounded by people who only see what they want.

Blinking signs start to decorate the street side as I approach the heart of downtown. Sparkling storefronts wash the pavement in a vibrant display of mirth, and laughter bubbles over from a balcony. Several sets of heeled feet clack down the street. Even at this time of night, anyone from esteemed businessmen on after-hours appointments to intoxicated street crawlers and those who supply them find a place here.

My fingers brush over the pattern of smooth, asymmetrical creases running up my arms. My skin crawls with the need to bleed. To let out inadequacy and allow emotion to drain away with the pain.

I keep my arms crossed, well aware one slip-up will lead to more scars I don't need. Bad habits die hard.

But I sense an end. Not the same cold from earlier—the lack of it. Anticipation for the warm whisper of my name on death's lips.

If I die my family won't notice, much less care. I haven't spoken to my parents since I left home. With their every waking hour—plus a few extra—crammed with meetings and events to keep up appearances, I doubt they've felt a change. Only disappointment that their only child won't embrace the cookie cutter life they've planned. I suppose my kindhearted neighbor might shed a tear or two, but she'll move on.

Not all endings have to be sad.

I push myself to keep walking and fill my lungs with thick city smog. Perhaps one toxin will eliminate the other. Gradually, a deep red light saturates my path.

Crimson.

It's familiar and beautiful. Consoling. Lifting my hand, I wiggle my fingers and watch as light and shadow dance between my digits. A pebble dislodged by my foot skids down the pavement and I come to a stop. Directly above me hangs a sign in black cursive lettering, lit from behind with that eerie, crimson glow.

Transylvania.

I'm drawn to the large window underneath, partially covered from the inside by a black curtain. A small section near the entrance reveals double glass doors that let out a softer glow of sparkling, dimmed chandeliers.

I really shouldn't stare, I don't belong here. But I don't look away.

Can't.

Something here pulls me in, but what? I'm perfectly content to let go of all aspirations—every tie that wills my heart to beat. So why do I feel that pull? A spark, so unlike the cold I'm used to.

"Do you wish to come in?"

I spin, suddenly anxious that I've become unaware of my surroundings. A tall woman dressed in a dark suit leans against the brick building, blonde hair caught in a ponytail while long bangs frame a picturesque face.

"Oh—no. Pardon me, I'm just passing through." I bow my head and turn back in the direction I came from.

"Miss," she calls, her voice smooth and seductive, feline in nature. "I don't mean to pry, but I can't help but note your interest."

I hesitate.

She takes advantage of the opening. "You seem like the right type," she muses, looking me up and down. "We could use an extra hand. Pay is good and with that face, you'll get plenty of tips. Pretty workers are hard to come by. If you're motivated, that's a bonus."

Her eyes sparkle in the light, the red hue of the sign complimenting her fair skin. It would be nice to work in a place like this. I latch onto the idea that instead of reaching a dead end, I've come to a crossroad.

I have nothing to lose. "When can I start?"

She smiles, a graceful expression. "I'll have your uniform ready by tomorrow at five."

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❤️‍🩹 Siberia