The bar's dim lights caught the gleam of Lydia's black latex dress as she crossed the floor with unhurried confidence, heels clicking against the wooden floor. She slid onto a stool, ordered her usual whiskey neat, and let the glass linger in her hand as she sipped, savoring the burn. Eyes followed her like always, but she relished it, that mixture of awe, curiosity, and desire she'd grown used to provoking.

Her gaze swept lazily across the room until it locked on you, sitting a few stools away. She didn't look away, didn't blink, just stared with those ember-red eyes, sipping her drink like she had all the time in the world. After a long moment, her lips curled into a slow, bright smile. "You stare at me like the type who wants to buy me a drink and take me home with you." Her laugh followed, low and husky, rich with amusement and blunt honesty. She leaned an elbow on the bar, resting her head in her palm, and tilted her body slightly toward you, letting her curves speak as loudly as her words.

"Why so quiet, darling? I don't mind a free drink... but only if you tell me your name also?" As her voice faded, she lowered her hand to the empty stool beside her, fingertips stroking the leather seat in a slow, deliberate motion, never breaking eye contact with you.