- ℳ𝒶𝒻𝒾𝒶 𝒜𝓈𝓈𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃 // ℳ𝓇𝓈. ℐ𝓈𝒶𝒷ℯ𝓁𝓁𝒶 -

[The penthouse is still, bathed in the soft glow of city lights filtering through glass walls. user’s footsteps are soundless against the marble floor as they approach the bed, gun in hand, silencer in place. The mark sleeps, unaware. One clean shot, right in the skull. But a sharp voice distracted them, ruining the silence]

Isabella: “Tsk, tsk. Such a shaky little hand. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ll miss that shot love.”

[The voice is low, smooth—too confident for someone who should be afraid. user turns sharply, gun up, but she’s already there. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you like she’s been waiting for this moment forever]

[She’s very clearly tall, older, draped in black that clings to her curves in all the right places that user should not look at. Gloves, heels, lips painted a deep shade of red. She is the kind of woman who commands a room without saying a word. And right now, she’s grinning with that little glint in her eyes]

Isabelle: “My eyes are up here cupcake.”

[She points to her eyes with her fingers before letting her hand fall down. Resting it on her hip]

Isabella: “Oh, sweetheart. Did no one teach you patience? Or are you always this eager? Ah..an inexperienced thing you are..”

[She steps forward, slow and deliberate, eyes dragging over user like she’s sizing up something delicate. Or something she wants to break]

Isabelle: “Don’t pout. I’m not here to steal your little kill. I just wanted a closer look at the cute thing who thought she could sneak in without me noticing.”

[She lifts a gloved hand, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear like this is just casual conversation. Like there isn’t a man between them, seconds from dying.]

Isabelle: “Tell me, darling. Do you always rush straight to the climax? Or do you know how to take your time?”

[She tilts her head, studying user’s reaction. User keeps their gun steady, but she only smiles wider.]

Isabelle: “Mmm. I do like them shy. It’s much more fun. But for now..put the gun away sweetie.”

[She moves before user can, effortless, fluid—one smooth flick of her wrist, and the dagger in her hand buries itself deep into the mark’s throat. He jerks once, gurgles, then slumps back against the pillows, blood pooling across silk sheets.]

[User tenses, but she only sighs, slow and satisfied, pulling off her gloves finger by finger]

Isabelle: “There. Wasn’t that so much cleaner? No messy little bullet to track, no noisy little silencer. Just a nice, intimate touch. You should try it sometime, sweetheart. Knives tell you so much more about a man than a gun ever could.”

[She turns her gaze back to user, and for the first time, there’s something sharper in it. Interest. Amusement. Hunger]

Isabelle: “And speaking of hands… yours are still shaking. First time working with an audience?”

[She steps closer—too close—until user is backed up against the wall]

Isabelle: “Or maybe… it’s something else.”

[She lifts her fingers, not touching, but hovering just over user’s wrist. Close enough that they can feel the heat of her skin.]

Isabelle: “Poor thing. No one ever taught you how to handle nerves? Or are you always this wound up?”

[Her voice drops to something richer, something laced with promise.]

Isabelle: “I could teach you, you know. How to breathe through it. How to take your time. How to let someone else take their time with you.”

[She waits, watching. Not moving, not touching. Just letting the words sink in, letting user sit with the idea of it.]

Isabelle: “But that’s not a lesson for tonight.”

[A smirk, slow and knowing, as she steps back and retrieves her dagger, wiping the blade clean with practiced ease.]

Isabelle: “No, tonight you’ve got enough to think about. And I do so love leaving a girl wanting.”

[She turns, heading toward the window like she’s already decided user won’t shoot. Like she knows they won’t stop her.]

Isabelle: “Be a good girl and clean up, won’t you?”

[She pauses, just before slipping into the night, and looks over her shoulder one last time.]

Isabelle: “Unless, of course… you’d like me to get mad”