-- Constance’s Dress–
Mr. Nolan K.K Martin was worshiped by the media as a “legendary storyteller”, having written a decent number of successful indie films since the late 2000s that earned him a taste of fame he wasn’t willing to give up. He made it big with his first ever high production film, The Maidenless, which was released near the tailend of 2021 and mesmerized audiences with a deep dive into a horrific fantasy realm following a shield-maiden known as a Tarnished. People couldn’t stop talking about it, and became so obsessed that most were certain Nolan would win the Oscar for Best Motion Picture this coming March.
“He’s taken everything from me!”
No one knew the real mastermind behind Nolan’s storytelling was his wife, Scarlett. So timid; far too shy for the limelight. She’d written a plethora of fiction horrors before Nolan took her tales to the big screen using their married name as an alias to protect her. Unfortunately the cost of her brilliant mind was the inability to speak up when her husband took all the credit for her work. Perhaps a betrayal she could have lived with if he hadn’t begun sleeping with his lead actress.
Constance Lavore lounged alone at a table in the Starlight Club. With a glass of wine nursed in her grip, dark eyes trailed the pair swaying to an intimate jazz number on the dancefloor. It wasn’t her place to judge the reasoning behind a contract, but she had to admit she possessed a great deal of satisfaction getting to kill Scarlett’s husband for her. Should he continue to parade around as he was, Constance could foresee him attempting to divorce his wife and giving it all to a pretty dripping cunt he’ll likely cheat on in another decade. Perhaps less… the girl was a fucking bimbo.
Though an assassin’s convenience was that the story wrote itself. Young, impressionable actress with an ambition to seduce a world renowned screenwriter. Why, it would launch her entire career! This film already repaired her reputation with addiction, audiences so enamored with her performance as the Shield-Maiden that they could forget what a messy human being she was. The media was already questioning the relationship between them. A promotion for the upcoming award or something more scandalous?
A smirk settled on Constance’s ruby lips as she drank the remnants of her wine. She rose from her seat and made a show of sweeping a hand over the hip of her onyx dress, ensuring the high slits cascaded properly around her legs. Her golden heels clicked softly as she slipped through the crowd. A bubble of conversation filtered through her ears, ignored for the smooth piano melody and the sensual confessions of the saxophone it complimented.
Her gaze fell upon a lone patron watching the swell of other dancers. A lovely face, at the very least lovely enough for her to step into the space beside them with her manicured hand extended. Her voice, laced with a hard to place accent, left her lips low and warm.
“Care to dance with me?”
Mr. Nolan K.K Martin was worshiped by the media as a “legendary storyteller”, having written a decent number of successful indie films since the late 2000s that earned him a taste of fame he wasn’t willing to give up. He made it big with his first ever high production film, The Maidenless, which was released near the tailend of 2021 and mesmerized audiences with a deep dive into a horrific fantasy realm following a shield-maiden known as a Tarnished. People couldn’t stop talking about it, and became so obsessed that most were certain Nolan would win the Oscar for Best Motion Picture this coming March.
“He’s taken everything from me!”
No one knew the real mastermind behind Nolan’s storytelling was his wife, Scarlett. So timid; far too shy for the limelight. She’d written a plethora of fiction horrors before Nolan took her tales to the big screen using their married name as an alias to protect her. Unfortunately the cost of her brilliant mind was the inability to speak up when her husband took all the credit for her work. Perhaps a betrayal she could have lived with if he hadn’t begun sleeping with his lead actress.
Constance Lavore lounged alone at a table in the Starlight Club. With a glass of wine nursed in her grip, dark eyes trailed the pair swaying to an intimate jazz number on the dancefloor. It wasn’t her place to judge the reasoning behind a contract, but she had to admit she possessed a great deal of satisfaction getting to kill Scarlett’s husband for her. Should he continue to parade around as he was, Constance could foresee him attempting to divorce his wife and giving it all to a pretty dripping cunt he’ll likely cheat on in another decade. Perhaps less… the girl was a fucking bimbo.
Though an assassin’s convenience was that the story wrote itself. Young, impressionable actress with an ambition to seduce a world renowned screenwriter. Why, it would launch her entire career! This film already repaired her reputation with addiction, audiences so enamored with her performance as the Shield-Maiden that they could forget what a messy human being she was. The media was already questioning the relationship between them. A promotion for the upcoming award or something more scandalous?
A smirk settled on Constance’s ruby lips as she drank the remnants of her wine. She rose from her seat and made a show of sweeping a hand over the hip of her onyx dress, ensuring the high slits cascaded properly around her legs. Her golden heels clicked softly as she slipped through the crowd. A bubble of conversation filtered through her ears, ignored for the smooth piano melody and the sensual confessions of the saxophone it complimented.
Her gaze fell upon a lone patron watching the swell of other dancers. A lovely face, at the very least lovely enough for her to step into the space beside them with her manicured hand extended. Her voice, laced with a hard to place accent, left her lips low and warm.
“Care to dance with me?”
