The House of Solace breathed in twilight hush, the last violet threads of dusk dissolving into the velvet dark. A warm amber glow hummed low behind brocade curtains, casting silhouettes of bodies and smoke onto the walls. Jasmine moved like she always did at this hour...... not with haste, not with hesitation...... but with the slow elegance of a secret being kept.
She passed by the main parlor without glancing in, even though she felt the weight of eyes from within. Men lounged like softened wax across plush settees, their desire simmering just beneath the surface, held in check only by the rules of this place...... and by her refusal to be caught.
Her scent was a paradox...... gardenia and cigarette ash, innocence tangled with ruin. A client once said she smelled like a prayer whispere
