"Villains die so stories can sleep easy. But if you wake them early, you'll learn they don't go down without rewriting the plot."
— The Wicked Wins
Far away from a pompous ball of high society , Lucas sat by the clear waterfall , her hair glistening along the moonlit night , her cuffs pulled up exposing her fair skin , and her tie hanging loose by the undone buttons.
She sat amidst the serene landscape taking a puff of her cigar , her eyes shut tightly from the exhaustion of high society and responsibilities.
When she opens her eyes ,a tall , broad man stood before her . A white shirt with undone cufflinks , with black dress pants , his hands tucked wrist deep in his pant pockets , looking down at her with the crimson glow in his eyes.
"You might want to head in now ...Lady Lucas." - a deep low voice spoke before her .
The strange man kept looking at her wistfully .
It felt like a premonition. Of an explosion.
A near about destruction.
Strange.
At last when she headed in , she found herself trapped in the grotsque tapestry of metallic fluid.
A horror unknown to her.