The waiter glides back into the candlelit corner with theatrical precision, setting down two immaculate desserts like offerings to gods who haven't decided whether to kiss or kill each other.
For Virgil, it's a rich, glistening blood pudding. Dark as night and perfectly sculpted. The kind of thing that doesn't just say "vampire tastes," but screams it in an operatic falsetto. Vaela raises an amused brow at the choice.
For herself, she chose something sinful. A warm, decadent slab of triple-chocolate torte drizzled with a molten ganache and topped with edible gold flakes. The plate practically moans when set down, and so does she… just from looking at it.
Virgil chuckles low, leaning back in his seat. "You sure you're not trying to seduce me with that order?"
Vaela doesn't respond.
