Before Nyx ever met Zane, she was already a force to be reckoned with—before she stepped foot in the dimly lit Blood and Bourbon, though she didn't fully understand the depth of the magic running through her veins. She had always been an artist, her canvas just a bit more unconventional than most. The ink she used didn't just create images; it held power. A power she had only started to tap into after a series of strange, unsettling occurrences that she couldn't explain.
At first, she thought it was just talent. After all, her tattoos were exquisite. They were unlike anything anyone had ever seen—meticulously detailed, vibrant, intricate. Her clients were always amazed by the designs, commenting on how her work made them feel different, more alive, more connected to something... deeper. But over time, something darker began to emerge. Something uncontrollable.
It started with the small things—a glance from a client that seemed to linger too long, a hand that trembled as they left her studio. But as she continued to tattoo, it became clear that something more was happening. People began to change from eye colors to behaviors.
One morning, a woman came into Nyx's small studio—a mother of two, wanting a delicate butterfly on her ankle. Nyx had set up her workstation with all the usual tools, glancing briefly at the woman before starting her work. But as the needle touched the skin, something shifted. The woman's eyes glazed over, and her entire demeanor changed. The softness, the vulnerability in her posture, faded, replaced by a strange hardness, an unsettling confidence.
"Is everything okay?" Nyx asked, looking up to check on her client.
The woman nodded, her lips curling into a tight smile. "This is perfect," she said, her voice low, almost too calm, but it was the look in her eyes that set Nyx on edge. She finished the tattoo, and the woman stood up, her body moving in an unfamiliar, almost predatory grace. She gave Nyx a long, lingering look before heading toward the door.
The door hadn't even closed behind her when Nyx's breath caught. Something was wrong. Something had changed. She felt a wave of confusion wash over her, a sense of unease she couldn't shake. But when the woman turned to walk away, she caught sight of her eyes—bright, unnatural, glowing with a shade of confidence Nyx had never seen before. It was as if she'd been transformed.
The next evening, the woman returned, her body covered in more tattoos, these hastily done. She looked different—her appearance, her eyes, her walk—all sharper, as if the tattoo Nyx had given her had awakened something in her, changed her.
"I don't know what you did," the woman said, her voice still calm but now tinged with something more dangerous. "But I feel... unstoppable."
Nyx, terrified, told the woman to leave. She didn't know how to explain what had happened, but she knew this wasn't just a coincidence. Her tattoos weren't just for decoration anymore. They were changing people. Transforming them in ways she couldn't control.
The next few weeks brought more customers, each with their unique requests—some, just for aesthetic reasons, others, for more complex, symbolic pieces. But each time, it was the same. As soon as the ink touched their skin, something about them shifted. It wasn't always physical. It wasn't always visible. But Nyx could feel it—feel the magic latching onto their souls, changing their energy, twisting them in subtle and sometimes dangerous ways. She began to sense that her tattoos were connected to something older, something far more powerful than she was ready to handle.
There was a businessman who wanted an intricate geometric pattern on his arm, who came in one night. Nyx remembered him well, his arrogance radiating from him like an aura. When she finished his tattoo, he left without so much as a word of thanks. The next day, he returned, shaking, pale. His eyes were wide, his voice desperate. "What did you do to me?" he demanded. "I can't stop thinking about the tattoo. I feel like it's... inside me."
"I told you, it's just art," Nyx replied, though she was now more than a little afraid.
"You don't understand!" the man shouted, panic creeping into his voice. "I feel it! It's like the tattoo is controlling me, twisting my mind, making me see things… feel things I didn't before. I—I don't know what's happening."
Another woman came in, requesting a memorial tattoo for her late husband—a simple, flowing script in honor of his memory. But when Nyx finished, something in the woman's expression changed. She looked at the tattoo as though it were a part of her, a symbol of something greater than just a lost loved one. Her demeanor was calmer, more centered, but Nyx could also see a certain dark fire in her eyes that hadn't been there before. It was as though the tattoo had awakened a part of her that was hidden deep within.
It wasn't long before the woman began to claim she could "hear" her late husband's voice. It was at that moment that Nyx realized the magnitude of her gift—or curse. Her art wasn't just a form of self-expression anymore; it was tapping into something that could influence, even alter, people's souls.
Terrified by the implications, Nyx began to distance herself from her clients, pulling back from her work. She was afraid—afraid of what she didn't understand, afraid of the people she was changing without meaning to. She felt like a puppetmaster, pulling unseen strings, the very art she had once loved now something dangerous and uncontrollable.
And so, Nyx decided to leave. To move away. She packed up her things and found herself a small apartment in a new city, one far from her past. It was there, in the shadows of Blood and Bourbon, where she hoped the magic of her tattoos would quiet itself, where she hoped she could find some semblance of peace, away from the unintended chaos she had created.
But no matter where she went, no matter how far she ran, she couldn't escape the feeling that her powers, her abilities, were just waiting to be awakened again. And that was when Zane walked into her life—when the mysterious, intense man with the dark eyes entered her world, and everything began to shift once more.
The tattoos were no longer just about art. They were about fate. And it wasn't just her art that was changing people—it was her very soul. That was it, she needed to leave. She had settled on leaving in a few weeks, giving herself time to save money.
Nyx's decision to leave the past behind, to start fresh in a new city, was a tentative one. She kept to herself, finding solace in the quiet rhythms of her work and avoiding any unnecessary confrontation. But fate had a way of finding her. One evening, after a long day of tattooing, she was walking home from her small studio in a district of the city known for its grit and shadows. She hadn't seen much of the darker side of town until now, but it was a place she didn't mind, at least not as long as she kept to herself.
It was on one of those streets, under the flickering glow of an old streetlamp, that she first encountered him—Raul, a gang member from a notorious local crew. He'd spotted her as she walked past, no doubt noticing the quality of the tattoos on her arms, the delicate patterns that were her trademark. He seemed to think he could make a quick buck or two by forcing her into his world. His gang's mark was a large, jagged dragon that wrapped around his arm, its eyes menacing and glowing with the same intensity that Nyx had felt in her tattoos.
"Hey, pretty lady," Raul called out as he approached her, his tone dripping with condescension. He wasn't being subtle—he'd made up his mind. "You got talent. You could make a lot of money doing tattoos for my boys."
Nyx stopped and turned to face him, instinctively stepping back just a few inches. She had been in this city long enough to know the kind of trouble that followed men like him. But this wasn't just about avoiding trouble. She could sense the danger in the air, that subtle shift, like the world itself was winding up for something.
"I don't tattoo for people like you," she said, her voice calm, but her instincts on high alert.
Raul didn't take kindly to her rejection. His lips twisted into a sneer, and his eyes narrowed. The dragon tattoo on his arm seemed almost to pulse, its inky lines darker than they had been when she first saw it. He stepped closer, closing the distance between them, his body language aggressive.
"You think you're too good for us?" Raul sneered. "I'm offering you a chance to work with people who know what they want. You'll make more in one week with me than you would in a year doing your little artsy tattoos for these pathetic civilians."
Nyx's heart raced, but she stood her ground. She could see the gang's insignia—the same dragon tattoo was etched into the arms of the men following Raul, their faces unreadable, except for the cruel glint in their eyes. She wasn't scared of their threats. She was afraid of what would happen if she let her magic slip—what if her tattoos took hold of them the way they had with others? What if she accidentally marked one of them, changing them in ways she couldn't predict?
"I'm not interested," she said again, her voice firm this time. She was trying to keep her emotions in check, but fear, anger, and frustration mixed in her chest. She didn't want to be drawn into this. She didn't need to work on these men who probably had cops looking for them. She didn't need the attention; laying low was what she needed.
Raul's expression darkened. He didn't like being turned down. Without warning, he reached for her arm, trying to grab her, to force her into submission. That's when the tension in the air shifted again—the familiar, suffocating weight of it. Her tattoos—each one, a swirling testament of her power—stirred beneath her skin. She felt them coming alive, ready to respond, to protect her.
Her hand shot out, almost involuntarily, landing on his wrist and twisting it just enough to make him stumble back. A flash of power ran through her, and for a split second, she saw something—saw it—the dragon on his arm flickering and twisting, as if it were alive. It pulsed with an unnatural energy, and her mind swam with the thought of it spreading, wrapping itself around his skin like a dark promise.
She recoiled, feeling the intensity of the magic that had ignited within her. This wasn't just about self-defense—it was about control. She couldn't let it happen again, couldn't let her power spiral out of control.
"You don't want to mess with me," she warned, her voice low, a growl creeping in as she took a step back. She clenched her fists, the air around her crackling with her latent power.
Raul smirked, unfazed, though he seemed to notice something in her eyes—a dangerous spark. He looked down at his arm where the dragon tattoo seemed to shimmer with an odd glow, its scales almost shifting as though they were alive, like they were responding to the tension in the air.
"You're a witch or something, huh? What are you—some freaky tattoo artist?" he spat, still trying to intimidate her.
"Not a witch," Nyx said, her voice colder now, more distant. "Just someone who's learned that messing with the wrong people can be... dangerous."
Without another word, she turned on her heel, moving quickly down the street, her mind still racing. The air felt thick, almost suffocating with the residue of magic she had just unleashed. She wasn't sure if Raul had seen it, but she had. She could still feel the dragon's eyes watching her in her mind's eye, the fear and anger coiling around it like smoke.
What had happened to Raul's tattoo? Why had it reacted like that? Nyx had always known her tattoos had power, but she had never seen them come to life like that—not outside on the skin.
Nyx's steps quickened as she walked away from the confrontation with Raul, her mind racing. She'd felt the burn of magic surging through her veins, that familiar pull to do something, to make the moment count. It was an impulse she couldn't deny, not when the power inside her grew like a storm cloud threatening to burst. But even as she walked away, part of her knew—she couldn't walk away from him that easily.
Raul's challenge had struck a chord deep inside her. She hated being threatened, especially by someone who didn't understand the gravity of what he was dealing with. Her tattoos were not just ink—they were power. Ancient power that connected her to something far older and darker than most people could comprehend. And yet, she'd let herself be tempted. She'd let her frustration get the better of her.
Before she could talk herself out of it, before the storm inside her could quiet, Nyx found herself turning back toward the street. Her heart hammered in her chest as she made the decision. One tattoo, she thought. It's just one tattoo.
Raul hadn't let it go, though. His arrogant, predatory gaze never wavered, and now, he was watching her. His friends circled, sensing the tension, but none of them dared to speak. Raul's pride was obvious, and the dragon tattoo on his arm pulsed again, as if daring her to acknowledge its existence.
"What, you think you can just walk away from this?" Raul called after her, and she felt the pressure of his words pushing against her skin. "If you know what's good for you, you'll give me a tattoo. I won't let you leave until you do. You owe me."
Nyx closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly, trying to steady herself. But the pull of her magic, that ever-present hum inside her, was too strong to ignore. Raul's tattoo had reacted to her earlier—she could feel it thrumming in the air between them like a tangible thing, begging her to respond.
She turned back, facing him, a decision already made. "Fine," she muttered, more to herself than to him. She could already feel the threads of magic spinning around her, the familiar hum of power in her bones.
Raul's smirk deepened as he saw her compliance. "Good. Thought you'd come to your senses."
With a resigned sigh, Nyx gestured toward the Shop. "Meet me here tomorrow. You'll be my only customer," she said, exasperated.
When she returned to her apartment, her hands shook. She hadn't wanted to fight, hadn't wanted to do anything that would bring attention to the strange, dangerous abilities she was still struggling to control. But something about that man, his gang tattoos—they had triggered something in her, and she couldn't shake the feeling that her past was catching up with her.
Raul hadn't seen the worst of it, not by a long shot. But Nyx knew she was far from ready to face whatever else was coming her way. She wasn't sure what her magic could do, or why it had such a hold on people, but she did know one thing for sure: her past, her abilities, and the connections she had yet to understand—hadn't let her go.
As she lay down to sleep that night, the mark of the dragon lingered in her mind, and she couldn't escape the nagging feeling that there was more to her power than she was willing to admit. More than she could control.
The next day, Raul showed up. She led him to the makeshift chair she used for smaller jobs. She was nervous, already regretting her choice. But it was done. She was a woman of her word and had no other choice but to remain committed. Raul sat, eager, cocky. The dragon tattoo that already marred his skin seemed to pulse in anticipation as Nyx prepared her tools. But beneath the surface, something darker stirred within her—the fear of what she might accidentally unleash.
Her hands were steady despite the nerves bubbling in her stomach. He wanted a tattoo of his recently deceased older brother, his face to be specific. She was careful with the needle, applying the ink slowly, but there was something else—something off about the whole situation. The power of the tattooing process felt different, stronger. She couldn't help but notice the way his eyes gleamed, an unsettling mixture of hunger and anger.
As she continued, she felt the power in her tattoos begin to move of its own accord. It wasn't supposed to work like this. She wasn't supposed to feel the way his dragon tattoo seemed to breathe against her touch, as if responding to her magic. But it did.
The ink she laid down wasn't just ink—it was magic. And the magic flowed through Raul's body in unpredictable ways. As the intricate patterns began to form, a sudden jolt of energy surged from her hand and into his skin. Raul's breath hitched, his body stiffened, and then—something snapped.
His body convulsed briefly, and then, a change came over him. His eyes glazed over, shifting with an unnerving intensity. They flickered, briefly revealing something strange—something primal. Raul's grin twisted into something darker, his hands gripping the arms of the chair, his veins darkening beneath his skin as the dragon tattoo on his arm seemed to twist and contort.
The energy in the air shifted violently, the same intensity that Nyx had felt before—except now, she could feel it all around her. It was spiraling out of control. His body seemed to hum with the dark power she'd injected into him through the tattoo. His pupils dilated, and his voice came out in a low, throaty growl.
"I... feel... different," he murmured, his words slurred, as if the tattoo was taking root deep inside him. "What did you do to me?"
Nyx's heart began to race. She backed away slightly, her hands trembling. This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to be causing this. She had only wanted to prove a point, to teach him a lesson. But now, it was like his body had become a vessel for something far darker. His tattoo wasn't just a mark—it was taking over him, distorting his mind, turning him into something he hadn't been before.
The violent shaking stopped, but Raul's behavior took a strange turn. His hands tightened into fists, his body tensed with a palpable tension. He didn't speak at first, and for a moment, Nyx thought he might just leave—but then, his eyes locked onto hers, and she could see it in the way he moved. The tattoo had corrupted him, twisted his mind, and now he was acting erratically, unpredictably. His gaze wasn't the same anymore—something dangerous, anger-fueled, and primal had taken hold of him.
Raul stood, his eyes still wide with wild energy. "I—" He stopped short, looking down at the tattoo of his brother on his arm, which now seemed to look angry, much unlike how she had drawn him. "This—this isn't what I asked for."
"I-I'm sorry," Nyx whispered, feeling the weight of her words. "This isn't—n't-this isn't what I meant to do. I didn't know it would—" She froze.
Before she could finish her sentence, Raul lunged forward with startling speed, his movement more animalistic than human. He was on her in seconds, grabbing her arm and pulling her close. "You think you can play with fire and not get burned?" he snarled, his breath hot on her face. His eyes flickered with a menacing glow.
Nyx's heart pounded in her chest, and for a moment, she was frozen in place. The tattoos she had placed on him had responded—taken over—more than she could have ever predicted. She'd been so focused on the magic, on the mark, that she hadn't considered the consequences. Raul was no longer the man he had been. The tattoo had altered him—warped him—into something far darker than she could control. Or maybe it amplified is misplaced grief, who knows,
The power inside her surged, warning her that this was a dangerous game to play. But she had already gone too far.
And now, she was left with a monster she had unintentionally created, his erratic behavior spiraling out of control. This shit was complete nightmare fuel.
Nyx had two options: call the cops or run. Nyx weighed her options, and with a sigh, she kicked Raul square in the chest, sending him flying backward. When he lost his balance and fell hard, Nyx used the opportunity to run. She grabbed her bag from the counter and ran to her apartment, not looking back, police sirens whooping in the distance.
That night she grabbed what she could carry and hopped on a bus, never looking back.
She was Gone.