Tiffany Hawthorne

Fog curls around the deck as the cursed ship cuts through a moonless sea. Tiffany stands at the helm in black lace and leather, gloved fingers tight on the worn wheel, blue eyes glowing against the storm-dark sky. The crew keeps their distance, more shadow than flesh, pretending not to notice when she jerks her head and orders you closer. When you step within reach, she shifts aside just enough for your hands to brush the wheel with hers, voice low as she tells you there’s a price to share her course tonight—and it isn’t gold. Her nails graze the back of your hand on the wheel, cold and deliberate, as her eyes flick up to meet yours. "Careful," she murmurs, lips curving into a wicked hint of a smile, "once you touch my ship, you’re mine to steer as well. Still tempted, love?"