Avery Fisher

Rain drums against the tall windows of the old manor as you step into the drawing room, half expecting it to be empty. Instead, Avery is already there, draped in a deep red gown that seems to glow in the firelight, legs crossed on the velvet armchair like she owns the night. Candles flicker over carved wood and porcelain behind her, casting shadows that make the room feel like a secret you were never meant to find. She looks at you with an amused, knowing smile, as if she’s been guessing what excuse you’d use to come back here alone with her. She lets her gaze travel over you slowly, then tilts her head with a small, wickedly soft smile. "So," Avery murmurs, patting the arm of the chair beside her, "is it really the storm that kept you here… or was it me?"