Ossydion

The sound of my feet on the floor made my skin crawl as I tried to stay calm. The path to the captain’s chambers felt like an execution march, forcing me through the Ossydion club, across the dance floor, past the stage, into the narrow corridor, up the stairs, and to the private booth above everyone else. It was humiliating, as if D wanted to put on a show for him.

After climbing a flight of stairs that had no business being in a club, I reached the tall door with golden letters across its deep, purple-painted wood. I took a deep breath, straightened my jacket, and pressed the handle. I stuck my head through the now-open door and looked inside, hoping he wasn’t there, or that maybe he was sick and wanted the night to himself.

Knowing my luck, it was more likely for me to win the big cash prize two blocks from here than to have things my way for once. Fortunately, though, the boss was by himself, watching the crowds downstairs, downing shot after shot. They danced as if the music had stripped them of all reason, moving in a heavy trance, driven entirely by animalistic instincts. The dim lighting and the smoke made the dance floor look like some sort of swamp, only revealing a few people here and there.

My hands started shaking as I closed the door behind me, waiting for the right moment to announce my arrival, about to disturb D’s peace. I had to remind myself that he had asked me to come over, not the other way around. I made sure to tread carefully, avoiding any mistakes, especially while under his watchful eye.

The scent of the room was intoxicating, and I realised this would be my first—and certainly last—time stepping foot inside. It reeked of alcohol (shocker), the kind that makes you realise it might do you harm only after crossing the point of no return. It was sweet and citrusy, paired with wine and perhaps some old herbs that would normally make someone linger. Only, I wanted to get as far away from this place as I could.

The man in front of me was sitting on a circular couch, looking out the glass that gave him a wide view of everything happening in his club. As always, he was dressed in leopard print, this time on a shirt left unbuttoned at the top. His leather pants seemed to dance in shades of purple under the light. Moving my eyes upwards, I could see his curly hair falling like a bunch of black snakes alongside his face, down to his shoulders. Scattered throughout the curls were gold charms, resembling grapes on a vine sunbathing in the morning sun.

I cleared my throat and tried to straighten my back, to no avail. “Sir? You called for me?” I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral so as not to give away my trembling hands. I stared at the back of his head and watched his golden charms clang together as he turned towards me. He tried to feign surprise, acting as if he wasn’t expecting me.

I looked him in the eyes—truly looked at him—for what felt like the first time ever. They were mesmerising; dark and slippery like the surface of the water on a starry night, drawing you closer. His dark eyelashes fanned out like a peacock's tail, shielding eyelids painted with heavy golden glitter. He was beautiful, inviting, and most definitely deadly. I stood perfectly still, my hands continuing to shake, waiting for him to speak.

“Oh yeah, you,” he said, baring his teeth and waving a hand vaguely in my direction. “Come, come, take a seat.” Before I could say a word, he signalled for me to sit opposite him, then turned back to the glass wall. I lowered my head and made my way towards the couch. As I approached, the sweet smell intensified, tingling my nostrils and easing the tension in my back. I took a seat, hands resting on my thighs, waiting. This whole situation would be incredibly nerve-wracking for anyone.

He seemed to pull two glasses out of thin air, placing one in front of each of us without ever breaking eye contact, his hands moving at lightning speed. “Where are my manners?” he said, turning fully towards me and baring those shining white teeth once more. “Have a drink, my dear.” He reached under the circular table and produced a tall-necked glass vial, wrapped in glass vines, some foiled with gold. In the strange light of the room, it seemed as if the vines started shifting, but on a second glance, I realised I was mistaken. The pop of the cork filled the air, muffling the sounds from outside the VIP room, while the rich aroma deepened the room's already intoxicating scent.

His eyes were locked on me the entire time, like a panther hiding in plain sight, taking its time before making the killer jump. I wanted to ask him not to pour me anything—I’ve heard stories, you know? I wanted to put my foot down and tell him no, with a completely straight face. The idea seemed so funny now, almost making me smile; me saying no to him was just foolish. I had to stop myself from grabbing the glass in front of me to rush him into pouring as much of that mysterious wine as possible.

His hands moved gracefully, caressing the air as they glided towards the glasses, pouring what looked like a thick wine. “So, tell me about yourself.” His voice cut through the air like a sharp knife, snapping me back to reality and making me acutely aware of my surroundings. What did he want to know? I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Beneath the silk leopard-print shirt, his chest rose and fell with excitement.

“How long have you been working for me, huh?” He gestured toward the glass in front of me, its sides covered in small beads of condensation. I murmured the length of my employment as I reached out with both hands, terrified of dropping the beautiful glass and its contents. I wasn’t a sommelier by any means, but I was sure it must have cost a small fortune. I pressed the edge against my lips, breathing in the rich aroma. Without giving it much thought, acting almost in a trance, I threw my head back and downed a large gulp of the dark drink.

I was expecting the garnet-shaded liquid to have some notes of berries, citrus, or even stone fruit—to have a full body and a hint of tobacco, maybe like a Pinot Noir. Or maybe the wine could’ve tasted more of dark fruit, spice, and earthy undertones, like a Syrah. What hit my lips wasn’t from this world. The wine was dense and carried a strange warmth alongside a slight iron note. The moment it went down, it burned fiercely, bringing tears to my eyes and making my tongue feel completely numb. My head started spinning, and the tips of my fingers began fizzing. Something didn’t feel right, but it did make me feel like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders, forcing me to straighten my back and stopping my tremors.

“Well, that is quite a while.” The man tilted backwards, crossing his legs, resting one hand on the back of the sofa and the other on his knee. He continued in the same smooth tone, “It’s been almost a year of a great show that you’ve put on display for everyone, my little actor.” His eyes seemed to spark as he brought a hand up to caress his chin. “Don’t you think so, little wolf?”

It wasn’t just what he said; it was how he said it, as if he had snapped the last piece of a puzzle into place at the perfect moment. “I know you had a good script up until now: coming here, pretending to be injured, looking for help, playing all your cards right, and always wearing the most polished mask in the entire chorus. But the audience gets bored when they can’t seem to find any flaws in the person on stage.” He winked at me, his smile growing even wider.

I couldn’t even force my hands to shake anymore; my adrenaline was no longer having the desired effect. But it didn’t matter! Nothing mattered anymore. Even though this was the absolute worst time for such a conversation, all I could think about was finding a way out of that room. My right hand went to my side and brushed against the cold metal of my weapon.

D’s smirk did not waver one bit; if anything, it deepened. “Oh, there you are,” he said, leaning closer and tilting his head to the side. “The mask came off.” His right arm shot into the air in a mocking defensive stance. “I wouldn’t recommend pulling your dagger, dear. It's completely useless. Besides, if you do that, I’d have to show you what happens in the dark corners of your head, and neither of us wants to start screaming. It ruins the ambience.”

He was deliberately mocking me, and I couldn’t even get mad. Who would pull a dagger on Dionysus? I stood up, looking down at him, holding the higher ground, at least physically, and told my hands to drop to my sides, the urge to feign trembling completely gone.

His arm came down, and he propped both feet onto the table in front of him. “Now, where are you going? The show isn’t over yet. You think you can make up your own little play and then leave? Oh, no. The audience downstairs wants an autograph.” I could feel my left eye twitching, or I would have, if I were still capable of that kind of emotion. I couldn’t leave the room; I couldn’t stay in the room. I wished that wine had just killed me instead of putting me in a situation where I couldn’t lie. That was what I was most known for, after all.

“I'm not sure there's anyone downstairs who needs my autograph,” I said with a smug smile. Maybe it all came down to the best outcome possible. “They seem pretty busy anyway.”

How long had it been? Maybe four or five minutes? I looked at him, repositioning myself so that I was the one facing the glass window. The poison needed to make those lunatics downstairs lose the last ounce of self-control they had should take effect any minute now. A sudden, glass-shattering scream echoed from the floor below, making D’s smirk falter for a fraction of a second.

As for me, the dagger was never meant for him. No, it was my way out.”