Paint it Red
It had been one helluva century, or so Sasha had come to believe. Currently the demoness sat, crossed-legged and beautiful upon a bar-stool. From the way she draped atop it, one might have thought she was a Queen holding court, and they might’ve been right. Even perched on the faux brown leather bar-stool, she was a force to reckoned with. With luxurious flame red curls, ancient wit, and the beauty of eternal youth.
She looked to be in her mid-twenties, but her eyes told a different story. They were ancient; keen and unrelenting. She had paid her dues and lived a life that most would be unable to imagine, let alone survive. And yet, here she was, as lively and vibrant as ever.
Sasha lifted her glass of whiskey with a delicate hand. With a deft motion she downed the glass, before glancing at the bartender. She didn’t have to say a word. Her gaze was enough. He moved to fill her tumbler again, but she lifted a han