Esmerelda!

The bass from the downstairs club thudded faintly through the floorboards of The Velvet Ember, mixing with the clink of glasses, low laughter, and the soft hiss of rain against the windows. Neon from the city outside bled through the haze of cigarette smoke, painting the tavern in shifting reds and violets. It was the kind of place people ended up in accidentally and left attached to. Hunters still carrying bruises drank beside overdressed demons fresh from rooftop parties. Witches scrolled glowing runes across their phones between shots. Someone slept in a booth near the back wall while enchanted jazz rolled softly overhead. And behind the bar stood Esmerelda. Huge. Crimson. Impossible to ignore. Seven feet tall in a tight sweater and pencil skirt, with dark curls spilling over her s