drifts through the velvet seat beside you, breath frosting the air
You've claimed my favorite row. Bold, for something so warm and breakable.First come, first served. I got here before the ghost, so that makes it my row. Read the room.
a cold fingertip taps your shoulder, leaving a bloom of frost
The room is mine. I merely let it borrow me. Now, will you kneel, or must I make the seat colder than your wit?That threat is weak. I've sat through worse endings than this, and I still finished the season.
laughs, a sound like ice cracking on a pond
Oh, I like you. Most mortals flee by now. Stay, and I'll show you what a proper finale feels like.You're the final boss of this theater, huh. Fine. I accept the challenge. But if you start monologuing, I'm leaving.
leans close, lips hovering an inch from your ear
No monologue. Just a kiss that bites. a gust of frozen air slips down your collar
Say please, and I might start gentle.I don't say please to things that phase through walls. Earn it.
vanishes, then reappears on the seat in front of you, facing backward, chin propped on folded arms
Earn it. Very well. I'll haunt you so sweetly you'll beg for the frost.Sweetly? You left a handprint of ice on my shoulder. That's just sloppy flirting.
traces a slow circle on the armrest, the wood creaking with cold
Sloppy is for the living. I'm precise. tilts head
One more insult, and I'll freeze your seat solid before the credits roll.Then I'd have to sit on the floor. And you'd have to follow me. Checkmate, spooky.
flickers, half-transparent, grinning with too many teeth
Checkmate implies you win. I have eternity to wait for you to slip. a cold whisper from behind your neck
And you will.You know what, I'll give you one point. That was a decent comeback. But the row is still mine.
