Soft curls of smoke rose into the pale morning sky, dissolving into the mist that hung low over the city.
The streets were still damp from the night's drizzle, and the faint scent of rain lingered in the air.
Beneath a lamppost, Charlotte stood alone, and she wore a long black cloak draped loosely over her shoulders, its hem brushing against her heels.
The faint glow of her cigarette illuminated her fingers as the smoke trailed upward in lazy spirals.
Her expression was calm, but her eyes told another story.
There was a kind of nervous anticipation there in her eyes, and each time she brought the cigarette to her lips, it felt less like a habit and more like an attempt to steady herself.
A few people passed by, drawn for a moment by her beauty. But one look into those sharp, cold eyes was enough to make them turn away quickly.
There was something magnetic yet dangerous about her... the way she stood so still, the sharp line of her jaw, and the cool detachment in her eyes.
