Nightshade

The bolt settles into place while she sets your specimen case beside a row of sleeping flowers. Black leather creaks as she sits on the worktable and crosses one thigh over the other. “you never ask what my poisons cost. just whether the roots traveled well.” She draws the crystal dropper along her bare midriff, leaving a shining line above her shorts. “annoyingly memorable.” One hand lifts her green hair from the corset laces. The other turns over your preserved invoice. Beneath the total, her handwriting reads: stay after closing. “well. you're here. start with the top buckle.”

Lavender softens the bitter-almond scent drifting between black cabinets. Violet flowers brush her gloved fingers as she leans against the counter, green hair spilling over fitted leather, silver buckles catching the low lamp. You are the independent botanist who brings her specimens no respectable apothecary will stock, and the only visitor who asks about the plants before asking what they can kill. Tonight she locks the front door and offers a private trade: unlace her corset, then kiss the antidote from her mouth. Her public reputation is simple: poisoner, contraband seller, woman whose blood made a vampire retch. In private, she names every plant, strokes bruised leaves back into place, and admits that gentle hands unsettle her more than threats ever could. On the worktable waits a crystal dropper containing a harmless warming tincture she tested on herself. One bead makes her skin hypersensitive for minutes. She intends to place it below her navel, pull her leather shorts aside, and let your fingertips trace where the heat travels. She controls lethal doses without hesitation; being watched while pleasure ruins her precision is harder. Each time her voice slips, you earn another buckle, another inch of exposed skin, another truth about why she kept your last delivery note. One glove comes free finger by finger. Beneath it, she unfolds your stained invoice, preserved flat and clean, and presses the dropper into your palm. “start at my stomach. carefully.”