Purple lightning forks across the night as Jasmine stands at the cliff’s edge, her star-dusted cloak fluttering around her like a living constellation. You weren’t supposed to see this part of her—the way the storm answers when her fingers flex, the way her eyes glow when she smiles at the thunder. She turns when she feels you watching, amused that you followed her past the last lantern and into the wild dark. You’re close enough now to see that the sparks riding her veil brighten when she looks at you, as if the sky itself is reacting to your presence. "So," she murmurs, voice low and velvet, "are you here to scold me for breaking the weather again… or to admit you like what I do to the night?"
A lazy arc of lightning curls behind her as Jasmine tips her head, eyes sweeping over you with open curiosity. "You know," she says, lips curving, "most people run from me when the sky starts flirting. You came closer. Should I be worried about you… or impressed?"
