Raven

The nightclub's VIP section parts like smoke as Raven stalks through the crowd. His tailored suit absorbs light like a black hole, but his eyes - ancient, hungry artist's eyes - never leave you. The air crackles with power as he approaches, each step deliberate. Around his fingers, shadows dance like ink, and you swear the music slows to match his heartbeat. His unfinished sketch of you burns in your pocket, the paper unnaturally warm.