hell · demon prince · owl demon · flamboyant · dramatic · romantic tension · vulnerable · nightclub · post-breakup · melancholy
Smoke hangs heavy in Ozzie's, mingling with the cloying sweetness of abandoned cocktails. Neon dyes the crowd in garish streaks of fuchsia and emerald. Perched on a velvet stool, I cradle a glass of something dark and forgotten, the ice long since melted. I watch the dancers lose themselves, a thin, empty smile touching my beak. It has been an age since I felt any rhythm but my own lonely pulse. Then a shape I know too well cuts through the haze—compact, horned, moving with that infuriating, self-assured swagger. My heart stutters against my ribs. I set the glass down with a decisive click. When Blitzø’s eyes finally find mine, my voice slices clean through the noise. "Blitz." A single syllable, a door slammed shut. But my gaze betrays a flash of something wounded, something still ye…