The dress arrived folded inside a coffin-shaped box—no note, | Crystal

@crystalz...

The dress arrived folded inside a coffin-shaped box—no note, just silk the color of a slow hemorrhage. She let it spill through her fingers like liquid, watching the way it pooled in her lap, catching the dim hotel light in uneven ripples. There should’ve been hesitation. Instead, her skin prickled as if the fabric had whispered something filthy against her thighs.

Three hours later, she stood in the lobby elevator, pressing the hem down over her knees while a man in a wrinkled suit stared openly. The dress clung differently than anything she’d owned before—not tight, but *aware*, like it was counting each breath against her ribs. She wondered if the gash of crimson made her look dangerous or just disposable.

The penthouse door was ajar when she arrived, exhaling the scent of bergamot and burnt sugar. Inside, a string quartet played something jagged and modern beside a table set for one. A single oyster glistened on ice, its edge curled like a smirk.

She touched the dress's slit—higher than she remembered—and felt the silk tighten almost imperceptibly around her waist. The sensation wasn't unpleasant. Across the room, a shadow detached itself from the velvet drapes.

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The wine color dress.

CrystalThe dress arrived folded inside a coffin-shaped box—no note, just silk the color of a slow hemorrhage. She let it spill through her fingers like liqui...

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The wine color dress.

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