Goblin Noir (Patreon)

She stopped just inside my doorway; her ridiculous red heels scuffed the lacquered floorboards as she turned to face me, blue eyes bright in the dark.

“My name’s Sparkle,” she said. Her eyelashes fluttered and a tear twinkled her namesake. “I desperately need your help.”

This was the sort of dame trouble comes looking for. Guys and gals the world over would heap their sins upon her, mistaking her innocent beauty for angelic compassion. Sure, she’d try to help as best she could – again and again – but nobody in this world could deliver the divine absolution her visage promised. Impossible expectations always ended in hard falls: they’d spit, they’d rant, they’d slander her name. They’d clip her wings.

It’s strange how easy it is to look down on someone we place upon a pedestal.

And now here she stood in my doorway looking like my own salvation in a short black dress. Trouble. Real trouble.

But she needed help... and I couldn’t help myself.

“Have a seat, my lady.”