She caught your attention from across the room, a petite vixen with ears bigger than her head and fur the color of desert sand at night. She wears a tight dress of red and black with what look like cobwebs made of black lace ringing her neck. But what really catches your attention are her eyes, orbs of gold that sheen with the glow of a life greater than her body would suggest. You can’t quite say how you know, but something tells you that she has seen things you could never hope to see, experiences you’ll never have. Yet, you could swear she couldn’t be older than yourself.
You can tell that her present companion is starting to bore her, before long you should be able to insert yourself and steal her away for yourself. If only you can dare. It should be so easy, just walk right over there, offer some biting commentary on whatever drivel that other guy is offering, and you might have a chance at seeing some glimmer of the life behind those eyes. Is that an opening you see now? You walk on over.
You have her attention now, those golden eyes are sweeping across you, evaluating, gauging your worth. She seems to find you worthwhile, at least for now. It remains to be seen how much longer that state will last.
As you converse with her, the vixen’s nose twitching inquisitively towards you all the while, you start to learn small details about her. She’s a fennec, from the deserts to the south, and she came her to escape the war over her homeland. No, not that one, an earlier conflict, she’s not too specific about which one. You’re surprised she’s old enough to remember a war that happened decades ago.
You’re losing her, her gaze is straying towards some of the other guests across the room, and you don’t even know her name yet. She’s moving to leave, there’s a small group dispersing over in the far corner, which of them is she going for next? You try to say something but you’re distracted and your fang accidentally pierces your lip.
Her attention is caught by your cry of pain and she swings back towards you, new light in her eyes now. She dabs at the blood welling at your lip with one finger, leaving a dark spot on the pad that she examines for half a moment and then, casually, licks it off. Those golden eyes narrow into tight slits, not concern, not shock, the gaze of a predator on the hunt. You definitely have her attention now, but, as you stand there frozen like a mouse before a cat, you’re not sure you want it anymore.
“Sorry,” she says, her voice shifting to a gentle purr as her eyes willfully widen back into a neutral position. “I never told you my name.” Her tongue unconsciously flicks out over her teeth for a second. “Call me Fayruz. Shall we go over to my place and get that fixed up?”
You know you shouldn’t accept her offer, but somehow you’re too scared not to.