It was the glare of red within the shadows that gave her away far before her creeping figure had stalked close enough to alarm her prey - the man who turned his head inopportune and caught the crimson that spelled his doom. He dropped the bottle he held, shattering on impact with the alley, and staggered backward with a great groan of confusion. She hated when they did that. She found the noise distasteful, both that of the glass she'd have to delicately navigate past and the ugly sounds from his gibbering maw.

She didn't normally handle things this way. Her hands gripped both sides of her billowing dress, sighing low with more of a set in her head and a narrow of those blood-burnt eyes. Her glare before was no more than a trick of the light, but her frustration made this one very apparent and no less inescapable. He'd fall back on his behind in a stumble, rubbing his bleary view with one hand and warding off the evil approaching with the other. "Hey, man, what--?"

Disinterested, she'd close the distance in a split of the veil; she crossed between its folds, smoking with shadows until she, herself, was a shade, and appeared again standing over him with an expression of utter apathy. Not just - her stare bored into him with a tilt down her lips, and her hunger was broken up by discontent. Would this really be how she'd spend her evening? On some dirty, ugly drunkard a street off from his favored pub and the raucous remnants of night life? It smelled. He smelled. She'd wrinkle her nose.

She didn't have the time to tempt someone home. Her blood ached. It was thinning, her cheeks taking on a gaunt shine and tautness that only further exacerbated the stand of her pale in the unforgiving moonlight; and that deep, deep red of each eye offered no more patience. "Oh God oh God oh fucking Christ --"

"Oh, shut up," she derided, rolling her eyes before sinking down on his shaking form and piercing his tanned throat with glinting fangs. She drank from him until his gasps for help became wheezes and then silence, a tense neck rolling from her lips until all that left was ragged as a doll. She tossed it to the side, wiping her lips with a single finger to also flick away the remains of his blood. She'd go so far as to wrinkle her nose and scrunch up her mouth, rolling her tongue inside her teeth to clean the last of it, and tut. Not her finest dining.

The red had only began to dye gold in her eyes again before she heard footsteps, a quick flex of her shoulder bones lifting her arms to cross her chest and one to rise from the lock and indicate a boredom for company. "Truly? I'm busy. Run along."

Boredom was the affliction of the night, baneful monotony permeating the icy exasperation that spilled from her lips. Desdemona Lafayette was absolutely frigid, scouring the alleyways of Oak for an antidote, a shot of excitement to warm her lethargic heart. She chose to settle in this den of supposed vipers explicitly for the thrill that would be offered by the seedy underbelly of Fiore and yet it seemed so barren, save for the scum and riffraff that polluted the streets. A pout stained her expression, pale green dimming in petulant spitefulness through the curtain of half-lidded eyelids. She clicks her tongue, a hand resting on her hip under the embrace of a lunar spotlight. "I suppose it's time to call it a night... How utterly boring..." Mona resolved herself to a failed venture and took her first steps when a cacophony of screams shattered the veil of despondency. A twisted smile contorts her sullen expression and the pink carnations bloom under the moonlight, smoldering in a heat that they had craved all evening.

Mona was all too giddy, swaying with silent steps, slithering under the cover of darkness with a crackling intensity that she was trying to restrain in her hurried movements. Her demonic contract forbade her from partaking in the finer, albeit crueler joys of life, but that doesn't mean she couldn't enjoy the spectacle of another's atrocity. A peek around the corner with dilated pupils to relish in the scene of the crime with voyeuristic pleasure, a hand lifting to her flushed lips. The screams had long since passed, left only with the last gasps of a dying man as he is drained wholly by the vague outline of a woman. Mona ponders at the idea of what that would feel like, keen fangs digging into the width of her finger and the taste of iron saturates her tongue.

The performance was over, but Mona wasn't ready for the curtains to close on this night quite yet. The clack of heels echoed in each unwavering step and Medusa's gaze penetrated the abyss in pursuit of an encore. This woman was fun. She could do things that the little devil could only fantasize about. That's what drew her forward despite the apathetic warning. "Apologies, I do hope I'm not spoiling your meal~" She'd reveal herself from the shadows and revel in the sight of the withered husk strewn so callously on the ground. A hand lifts to her cheek, ruddy pink and sweltering with a renewed tepidness. "Mm..  I heard the screaming and found myself rather enthralled by your exquisite work, Miss." She giggles chaotically, a crack in the height of her pitch that settles into a soft moan as the needles prick the canvas of her skin. Her heart was booming within her chest and shone so apparent in the pulsing of her eyes. "You can call me, Mona~ Consider me a fan~"

Predator kin to predator. Coventina was never lost in the dance; she had tangoed with forces darker than her and had swallowed those that couldn't keep up for decades, her two-step swifter than any alike vixen that thought her a mark. The first words drew that slide of her look, something sharp and unwavering and leaving no question in the night of the force the wanderer found parallel - and the following softened it to bemusement, lifting the eyebrow lining such a steep expression. Her head had only turned up at the side, moonlight catching down the knife of a cheekbone and glinting across still-red lips with the memento of her kill.

"A fan," she echo'd, and she'd flit curious gold from the wild green locks to the lascivious demeanor the girl held herself with. She'd clock her quickly - her impression? It'd wry the lines of her mouth, turning up slow at the edges to stop before it reached her jaw. She'd keep that little diatribe to herself. It wasn't hard to trace the surface of this figure and what she appeared to stand for, nor was she hiding much within that gleeful little soprano. "I see. You're either the eclectic sort or no human at all. A friend ... a foe? Where do people like us meet, apple?"

She'd tut her tongue and finally - slowly - turn to face the entrant, lifting an arm to fan down her chin and the other to hang across her chest, beneath her bodice. A typical slant to her eyes as they cast down to take the stranger in, her shoulders raised to stand full height against the backdrop of the moon; and the shadows she cast, they writhed, an invitation and a threat twofold. Coventina Carmen forever played cautiously. Nothing was food until it was between your jaws. She'd tap her cheek, humming. "Mona, is it? I'll return the favor after some ascertainment. What's a pretty little thing like you doing on your lonesome so late into the evening? Now ... didn't anyone ever warn you of things that go bump in the night?" She couldn't rule out the chance this girl was a hunter on her tracks, mortal or otherwise.

A spot of humor, rolling from the roof of her mouth to a frosty breath of the air. "Forgive the crassness: what kind of 'thing' would you be, if you're going to bump into me here? I warn you, sweet Mona ... I'm not much of a sharer." Nor does she care to go down easy. "Though I am known to be gracious in my graces."

A finger twirls within the roils of her mane, lilac-tinged edges lost in a verdant forest that gleams under the limelight. She's bristled in her excitement, a frazzled mess teetering on the brink of manic glee. Mona's lips pop, a curve that fluctuates in tandem with a heavy purr. The moon catches the monster's flattering gaze, illuminated in a way that flaunts her alluring beauty. The serpent coils upright, a straightening of her posture with a hand held out, pendulous and posed as if it held an apple within. vivid dahlias in full bloom. "People like us?" She'd cackle, she'd chime; a bell tolling with a jarring squeal.

Mona slithers in adagio, heels rattling with a hushed echo, while she leans forward, flirtatiously with a feigned lamblike glimmer in her expression. "Why, we gather in the same garden as all liars and pretenders do we not? The monsters that would prey upon mankind." She'd nestle in at the roots of the tree, staring up to covet the forbidden fruit that lingered within her grasp. Mona was flushed, an almost sheepish hand flitting to hover a whisper away, a soft graze of her fingertips against pale porcelain. "My, you're even more beautiful up close~" She'd flutter her opaque lashes, a display of submissiveness within the shadow of the tall, imposing woman. The tiny snake would inch up the root, clinging at the base. "Mm~ Mother did indeed warn me of the monsters and beasties that lurk in the shadows, just chomping at the bit to eat up a sweet, pretty girl like me..." A soft hum that'd fluctuate into a hiss, a murmur caught within her throat, and her tongue would peek out and trace the contour of her lip.

A playful giggle, fracturing in discordant tones when her elation hits a new peak. The mysterious woman was no fool. It only made sense that a predator would immediately recognize its own kin. "Ah, but you see... I ended up becoming one of the creatures that go bump in the night myself~ Though I'd wager my curse differs from yours... I see no reason to hide it from you, gorgeous~ I'm a daemon." She bites down on her lip, a tempting needy jostle of her hips as he fingernails trail along the length of the raven-haired vixen's arm. "You'd be nice to a pretty little thing like me wouldn't you~? I'm unfortunately cursed to be virtuous, but a girl has needs~" Her gaze would snap towards the mangled husk that was strewn at their feet, a flash of her obscura smoldering abyssal fuchsia that traces heavenward to behold dim amber.

She had earned her audience. Coventina would drag that prospective gaze down the manic shape of the girl in front of her, this Mona, and their rise would be apprising until deep, satiated saffron had their fill of vinous green. She had a uniqueness about her; something Coventina valued above much else, for the inherent worth of a person depended entirely on what they could offer. That could be something as simple as entertainment. Coventina could suffer anything except a boor. ... With the tight turn of her lips and a slither behind them, she didn't figure this 'Mona' for one.

Coventina allowed her the close of the distance, rising taller to her height of statuesque pale and watching every motion her new fan made with the eyes of an unbothered hawk. She was actively being dismissed as a threat, Coventina needling one finger into her own cheek in thought and consideration. Mona didn't play a different game; like once more met like, and these predators paced to their dance without much asked from the other. She chuckled, raspy and dark, and it flowed off her tongue when she'd open her mouth to respond. "You're no sore sight yourself, my dear. Eyes aren't the thing you make bleed ... merely a guess." She'd tut, moving her hand from herself to caress with the back of her knuckles the length of Mona's cheekbone. "Does this usually work on your prey? The sweetness you offer ... diluted with arsenic ... and offered with such pretty little lips."

She'd tilt her thumb, pressing it against Mona's wet plush, only to swipe it off before the other could think to bite it. A wry look. Coventina was amused by her. The pieces were falling in place, a quiet sigh heaving her bosom with her arms retracting to heft under it. "A daemon? My, I haven't traded with one of your ilk in ... years." The timeframe rolled from her lips with apparent weight, speaking to a timeline out of mortal means. Her eyelids flicker to the tease of the girl's fingers on her, lifting her lids slow to shade the gaeity turning in narrow ochre. "Poor thing. Darling, you truly are ... pent up. I know little of how your pacts work, but I know enough for the clues in your context ... You're trapped, aren't you?"

Her words rung with a simple sympathy, a passing nouveau riche of pity. "Tell Coventina what you need. I'll see if we can't come to terms." She'd coo to her, threading a finger through stark green locks and lifting them with all the care of a spiderweb. She didn't want to snap it.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

The steady rhythm of a heart beating scalding blood, a squeak in the vexing graze of wintry touch sizzling against her cheek. Mona would lean closer still, coiling with the flit of her heels, posed skywards melting away into a raven-haired silhouette, caution thrown to the wind. Ashes to ashes; the serpent would quell her desires even still. "Mmm~ I would never think of you as prey, miss~ Nor do I find myself this... excited. I struggle... with control." A tongue slips to lick the softness of her lips, peering up with eager eyes. She was purring in a way only a cold-blooded reptile could, sporadic shifts and nails digging into the skirt of her dress to indulge the itch. "Everything I feel is so... heightened... Especially when I encounter such an alluring miracle of a woman." A miracle radiating from the darkness.

The snake leans into the thumb that traces the curves of her tender lips, ephemeral ache in the way it yearns to indulge in the sensation again. A pouty moan, nails desperately burrowing into the stitching of the woman's sleeves, tugging with need. She had already gleaned the affliction that Mona suffers under. The curse of virtue, craving the rotten core of sin. A raspy growl that splits into a clarion cackle spilling ragged, tepid breaths. "I have to be such a good girl~ I... HATE it! Have to work so hard to take the edge off... But... You'll help me though won't you?" She'd flash her blood-red eyes in prayer, fluttering smeared mascara, whimpering behind the bubbling pool that threatened to spill from the brim.

Just being so close to the discarded carcass and the monster that fed on it had the snake teetering on the edge of the branch - a carnivorous maw ready to partake in the forbidden temptation. Mona collapses into the voluptuous figure of the devil called Coventina, a penumbral witch who was graciously offering to satisfy her needs. "A taste of your apple... and I'm all yours." Her arms wrap around the base, slithering up on tip-toed heels to cling around her neck and draw her in close. Her bosom snags against the other's bodice, her heart beating erratically, the pulse of warm blood now flowing within her veins. The serpent climbs and climbs, squirming to claim what it desired from her lips. A kiss in the roil of her tongue that trails along to lap at the boundary of the woman's lips. The blood that still stained her otherwise pristine pale.

"You'll take care of me won't you, Miss Coventina? When you indulge in the forbidden fruit that I cannot?" Her lips would pop, hearts bursting in the twinkle of shooting stars burning crimson and she'd return down, submissive, a vicious verdant hydrangea with petals seeped in venom basking in the wickedness of the taller woman with adoring eyes.

This wasn't a sight unknown to Coventina. The memory, however, was not of the craven masses and their obsessions; their lust and their hunger, the way they'd bend and fall and break over themselves for just a taste of the vampiress' glance melted from frost to warm blood. This daemon - the creature pronouncing itself under the human name 'Mona' - was not so simply a thrall, nor was she an enchanter vying to bring Coventina under her song. She wasn't singing so much as rasping. Her eyes burned with an unsteady red. Her body crooned and aching and closed all distance for that semblance of repose. Something to sate, deep, twitching in burning veins.

Desdemona Layafette did not remind Coventina of anything mortal, wanting or otherwise. She reminded her of a newborn; a monster tearing through its chrysalis. Coventina herself, in the throes of her needs and desires and that inescapable starvation in the wake of her first turning ... Coventina, crooned and aching and picking her way through hordes of corpses until something still warm could meet her lips. Maybe Mona did not see herself this way; she didn't need to. All she needed, for this moment, was the Countess' graces. It was true pity unreflected in the apprising amber that encased the other girl's every movement and every touch she laid on Coventina's picturesque form. It was not the masterpiece she had interest in. She just wanted to lick the paint.

Gold bled like an abandoned countryside until only streaking crimson remained, each bubble of light turning dark and deep and monstrous in the gaze returned with Mona's own cloy. She'd dip her arms to trace down and up the length of the girl's, roaming stray circles and absent shapes until her jaw was equally caught in the net of Coventina's fingers. A service to the world would be putting down the pathetic animal she held close. Crush the depravity that spilled in hot lava from the red of her eyes ... and Coventina, burning roses in her own curtain of night, had to think: when had she ever cared about the world? Why rid herself of a project? Something ... entertaining.

Oh, the tragedy. She sighed in a breath of winter that cut in shards down Mona's lips, the tongue of a predator extending down like divine intervention to offer a scrap of its suffrage. She left it on hers, pulling back as the other did, with a dark laugh subdued only by the steps she took back and the slow sit she took on nearby steel. She'd cross one long leg over the other, wrinkling her gown with a curious bend of her head.

She didn't say anything; she turned her hand over in the air, snapping her finger at the end of its flick, and the shadows handled the night's performance for her. Grasping arms released like tendrils, grasping the corpse of her feed like the strings of a puppet only to shuffle him to his feet and drag his bloodless limbs in a display. The marionette, it danced for them. It fell apart for them. It put on quite the show; and at its side, sidling deeper and deeper into the darkness that cast down on it, was a merry old beast with bloodred holes for eyes.

"Leave it all ... to your Coventina." A covenant of this dark, dark night.

The curse of virtue, the toll of iron chains thrashing for sweet release in the embrace of a creature of the night. A being that would settle to ash under the grace of dazzling sunlight, but radiated in a way that was too enthralling to the demon stricken with cruel justice. Sacrilege in skirting the line, the cliff's edge that would plunge her into the infernal flames. Her soul was already damned, what did it matter anyway? She clung to the opaque; no more light. A carnival of depravity - the serpent reveling in the forbidden fruit that it had always longed for. The snake was eating its tail and yet this wretched world would persist. So, why then did this petty, vile indulgence resonate so vividly?

A tongue slithers, and coats her fangs to savor the bittersweet appetizer; the main course yet to be determined. Ravenous for another morsel, she'd desperately latch onto any wicked decadency. Her eyes remain fixed, pleading, a petrifying gaze to commit every subtlety, or lack thereof, to memory. Coventina moved wordlessly, but her demeanor spoke volumes. A coy smile, finger pulling at her lips as she watched the vampire settle into the prologue.

Desdemona's heart rattles in its cage, palpitations in the craving ache that had swallowed her whole. She can't hear her steps, the muted sounds of heels as she follows suit to perch next to Coventina, a maniacal repulsiveness that mangles her fair complexion as her head falls to lean on her shoulder. The cliff is gone. All that remained was the abyssal theater and the maestro that would weave such beautiful sights. And how marvelous they were, a tale as old as time; The Good Samaritan and the evil intentions that would befall him on the wayside. There was no reason for his misfortune, a simple case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, set upon by a despicable devil through no fault of his own.

That's exactly what made this recital so breathtaking. It called for no narrator to describe the plot. A beautiful monstrousness that was inherent to the world. The serpent would coo, purr, and gently stroke the arm of the conductor with the clingy nuzzle of her frayed hair brushing against the wintry warmth, her eyes never leaving the spectacle of gore and perversion of human flesh.

"Bless you, Coventina~"