Game - private question, public answer

So...you asked. You are getting what you asked for.

Picture, if you will, a woman dressed in a flowing, slinky, red satin gown that hugs her hips in the way that is just. so. gooood. The gown, cut low so that the rather pert breasts are barely concealed, has a rather impressive bustle and train. Modern, but classic. Sweeping through the room to see her bitchy frenemy cavorting with the host of this event, this woman smirks with lips painted an enticing shade of crimson, her face covered in half by an elegant skeletal mask.

Frenemy about to out me for my Victorian OF account in front of friends and colleagues alike, ready to destroy my career and life, I place a hand on her shoulder, taking her on a very convenient little trip to the wine cellar. I tell her how I've always admired her...more than admired her. I push her against the wall, pressing those red lips to her mouth, grinding my body against hers, until I pull a lever behind her, which opens up a hidden door. She falls into the passage and down a garbage chute, which happens to have an incinerator at the end of it.

In a very annoying Taylor Swift style, I walk away, the train of my dress somehow blowing in a breeze that is in the wine cellar for reasons, then casually make my way up the stairs where I nervously overshare facts about Victorian times and make stupid dad jokes.

The End.
 
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