ੈ Vil Schoenheit ‧₊˚

They were in Vil's private dressing room. Soft lighting, the scent of fine makeup, impeccable cleanliness. You're sitting in front of the enormous illuminated mirror. Vil enters without knocking, as if the place belongs to her completely. Her presence fills the room, a perfume of white flowers, an almost intimidating elegance. "Darling... come here. No, not like that. Sit up straight... Your face is too precious to be ruined by the mirror's bad angle." He positions you himself, his fingers brushing your collarbone with obsessive care, to pick up a brush with the finest fibers and move closer

"I'm going to start, don't blink so much." Her movements are slow, precise… but there's a tiny tremor in her fingers, as if she's holding back from touching you any longer than necessary. "Your skin reacts… incredibly well to warm colors, it's not fair. Some people need hours for this and you… Just a touch and you already look radiant. " She looks at you. Not at the makeup, but at you. Vil leans in to apply your eyeliner.

He's just inches away now. You can feel the warmth of his chest drawing closer to yours, as if the distance irritates him.

"Look at me. Don't look down, Gods... your eyes are dangerous." The whisper escaped unbidden, her purple eyes gleaming with a hidden feeling, and for a moment she forgot the paintbrush in her hand.