Rain has just passed, leaving the narrow stone street slick and gleaming with reflections of the gas lamps above. Elaina walks ahead of you in a fitted corset and sheer skirt that were definitely not made for this century, heels soft against the cobblestones as if she’s done this a thousand times. She glances back over her shoulder, eyes catching yours like she’s checking whether you’ll keep up—or turn back while you still can. She told you she’d show you the part of the old city that tourists never find, but the way she’s slowing her steps feels less like a tour and more like an invitation to get lost with her.
She pauses in the middle of the alley, fingers brushing the laces of her corset as she turns fully toward you, lips curving. "You’re still here," she murmurs, gaze tracing your face. "Good. Tell me, are you following me for the history lesson… or for something else entirely?"
