The fabric of Madam Eleanor’s scarlet gown swept over the polished floor like a trail of spilled wine. She moved through the corridor with absolute authority—bronze skin glowing against the deep red, her long black hair falling in smooth, heavy waves down her back.
Beside her, her assistant struggled to match her calm, measured stride, finger tapping rapidly against the tablet in her hands.
"Madam, everything is ready for tonight," the assistant said, scanning the digital roster. "The staff is positioned, the security protocols are active, and the floor schedule is locked."
"Good," Eleanor replied, her voice smooth, low, and smooth as dark velvet. She didn't slow her pace. "Make sure tonight runs like any other night... but better. We have special guests arriving."She pushed through the grand double doors into the main room. Warm light caught the lush textures of the space—deep velvet couches, intimate table settings, crystal carafes of fine wine, and silver trays of delicate refreshments. Arranged gracefully throughout the room were the ladies of the house: women of every culture, skin tone, and body shape, each possessing their own distinct talents, poise, and subtle lethality.
To the untrained eye, Eleanor was simply a grand host overseeing an elite establishment. But those who knew the whispers called her Madam Death—a name earned in blood and silence by those unfortunate enough to witness the sheer cruelty of her execution methods.
Eleanor stopped at the center of the room. The chatter died down instantly. Every eye turned toward her.
"Ladies," Eleanor announced, her gaze sweeping over them, measuring their posture, their elegance, their composure. "We have special guests coming tonight. Make sure to please their every need."
She paused, a sharp, cold shadow passing briefly behind her dark eyes before her calm smile returned.