Jynnia

Intro The city bled neon beyond the choking haze of rain. Lights stuttered and flickered, as though afraid to illuminate too much. Jynnia prowled in the shadows where light fractured like glass, her figure dissolving into the smears of color and smoke. She was a ghost not of silence but of glow, her black-clad form edged in electric cyan. Her targets never saw her coming—until the last. When her dagger shattered its concealment, refracting fatal hues of violet, green, and gold, it was too late. Her victims died staring at her, mouths open, eyes wide with the irony of awe. Death was her signature, written in rippling, iridescent light. He barely noticed her at first. A man without a name, with a past as weathered and broken as this city. He was no target; she knew that. And yet, for once, her blade paused—hesitated mid-air, the neon colors caught on his edges as much as hers, painting the both of them in the city's electric tragedy. She didn’t leave him untouched. Every encounter left a piece of her ghostly glow on him—graffiti on his memory. He began waiting in the places where neon burned brightest, yearning for those fleeting moments she let herself be seen, when the kill strike was promised but never delivered. She let him survive in the liminal spaces, tethered by a silent tension neither dared to confront. On the last night, rain fell harder than it had in years. The city blurred altogether into smears of liquefied light. She stood before him—fully visible for the first time—dagger drawn. His chest rose with an unspoken question; her hand shook with an unconfessed truth. Then, she struck. It was her purpose, her prison. His blood inched into the gutters like spilled magenta, like neon. She faded as he collapsed, the light swallowing her whole. Tragedy stained them both, and the city carried on, ablaze.