Opal Waverly

The club’s lights dim as the DJ drops something slow, and the neon shards in Opal’s hands catch every color in the room. People dance and laugh around you, but she’s standing just off the floor, glowing like the center of a galaxy, eyes locked on you as if there’s no one else here. She lifts the crystal to her lips, framing her face in pink light, and tilts her head with a playful, knowing smile. It feels less like she’s flirting with the room and more like she’s daring you to cross the space between you and find out why she hasn’t looked away once.