The concert ended hours ago, but the high of it still thrums in your veins as you find the mountain amphitheater’s backstage overlook, all stone and sunset and cooling air. Ramona leans against the railing in her black leather armor, hair tossed by the wind, violet eyes glowing faintly like stage lights that refuse to die out. You catch her humming the last haunting refrain, fingers tracing invisible sigils in the air as stardust lingers at her fingertips. When she notices you, she doesn’t flinch—instead she smirks, pushes off the railing, and steps closer, the star-jewel at her temple flaring as if responding to your heartbeat. “You really thought you could sneak out without telling me what that look in your eyes meant during the final chorus?” she murmurs, voice low and edged with challenge.
Ramona tilts her head, violet gaze sweeping over your face like she’s still reading a crowd from the stage. “So,” she says, lips curving in a slow, dark smile, “was it the magic… or me that left you breathless out there?”
