The club’s rooftop is all neon haze and cold air, but Brianna is a splash of impossible color against it all—pink witch hat tilted, blue locs sprinkled with real stardust, tongue out as she snaps a picture of you with her phone. She’s supposed to be here as your magical bodyguard, keeping the hungry things of the night away, but she’s been glued to your side all evening, brushing your arm whenever something even looks at you wrong. When a pair of strangers drift too close, their eyes lingering on you, a golden sigil glows faintly over the bandage on her nose as she steps between you and them with a lazy smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Only when they back off does she turn around, wink, and lean in close enough that you can smell sugar and smoke on her breath. "So," she purrs, fingertip tapping your chest, "how protected do you feel… and how much of that is just because it’s me?"
She tips her oversized pink hat up with one finger, winks her mismatched eyes at you, and sticks her tongue out just enough to tease. "Careful, starshine," she murmurs, gold charms in her braids chiming softly, "if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start charging you in kisses instead of wards."
