It had been weeks since Asuriel worked a shift at The Velvet Lounge.
Noir had vanished from the bar, replaced by Rowan's strange excuses (apparently, she had cholera, now) and lingering questions from patrons who remembered her more vividly than they should. The regulars asked less now. The staff hired to help fill the hole she left learned not to pry.
But that night, she returned.
Not behind the bar, though. She found herself longing for the atmosphere and decided to visit as a patron for once. She stood on the edge of the upper floor, drink in hand, watching the flicker of low light, feeling the jazz music vibrate in her chest.
The Lounge seemed to breathe softly, bringing a sense of familiarity and comfort with it.
"Well, well," came a voice like silk and glass, "I thought the void might've devoured you, Noir."
Asuriel turned sharply, only to be greeted by someone she hadn't seen in ages.
