Our Villain Enters

He entered the room like silk sliding through fingertips. Tall, confident, and moving with every ounce of his body in the knowledge that by the time he left, he would own the soul of everyone in the room, whether they consciously realised it or not.

Eyes widened whilst others hazed over with a feeling adornment or lust as he began to descend the staircase. Everyone in the room couldn’t remember if they had ever seen a man dressed so fine in a suit so gorgeous. The suit was fitted perfectly to his lean, toned body, the choice of tie over bowtie man him that little bit rebellious to them in the most unknown and known way.

Cascading down the stairs with the Grace of Lucifer, anyone a little too star stuck could have sworn he moved in slow-motion. Fixing a cufflink before gracefully picking a filled Champagne glass from a passing waiter’s tray, our unsuspected villain scanned the room.

They were all hopeless sheep to him. They were all, just, livestock. Moveable, meanable, breakable, replaceable.

Piercing eyes and false smiles passed plausible pleasantries with those attempting to start a conversation. He was not here to talk; he was here to leave an impression and that wasn’t accomplishable with small talk and fake flattery.

Keeping to the edge of the room, our villain was able to view his options, his opponents and contemplate changes to his schemes. With a quick hand, he stopped a waiter hurrying past, handing his now empty glass over before allowing them scurry along.

That’s when he saw her. A blur that he almost missed, a notion that was rare. A flick of red in a sea of brunettes and blondes, shimmered through the waves of the other guests. As suddenly as he noticed her, she was gone. Who moved that fast at a ball?

Softly moving away from the wall, the wolf mingled into the crowd of sheep, weaving through, slipping in and out of conversation as he moved onward. Trying not to make his search obvious, our villain found himself in the middle of the room, simply confused. Where did this mystery go?

There.

Far end of the room, loitering by the open bar; bright, red locks in dangerous curls and a matt black bodycon dress. Someone was certainly out of place in attire, someone was clearly out of their depth here.

Wrong party little lamb.

With open strides, he made his way across the room, other guests parting for him as he manoeuvred his way. Approaching the bar, our villain signalled for a double of the drink she was ordering for he’d try one himself. An Old Fashion.

“Well,” he spoke, leaning himself again the bar. “You certainly seem out of place, but I definitely cannot fault your taste.”

She didn’t move to face him and for a moment he wondered if she even heard him; however, when she slid the second drink towards him, he knew she had.

“Aren’t you a little too good for a crowd like this?” Her voice was as smooth as silk meeting satin.

“Aren’t you a little below a crowd like this?”

“I suppose then,” she huffed, “that we’re both somewhere we shouldn’t be.”

“I am supposed to be here.”

“So am I.”

“To what end?” Our villain laughed from the gut, filled with amusement of the creature with the red locks.

She turned to him with a sweet look. Bambi hazelnut eyes shone behind fluttering eyelashes; doll-like porcelain features made up her face. Our villain would never admit it, but he’d never seen anyone so beautiful.

“Ending you.”

Ah, our Hero enters.