The security guards shoved President Moore through the heavy mahogany door, throwing him hard onto the plush red rug beside the hearth. A small fire crackled in the fireplace, casting flickering shadows against ancient, ornate mirrors that lined the walls. The air in the dim room was thick, heavy, and chilled.
Eleanor stepped inside, closing the heavy doors behind her. The frantic noise of the ballroom instantly vanished into dead silence.
"Now," she murmured gently to herself, "we wouldn't want a little hiccup to spoil the mood."
She glided gracefully across the velvet carpet toward Moore, her long red gown sweeping over the floor. She stood over him, her dark eyes flashing with sharp, icy tension.
"Mr. President, I run a tight establishment, and I do not tolerate ignorance," Eleanor said, her voice dripping with dangerous calm. "I have one absolute rule in this house: do not touch my girls."Moore pushed himself up on one elbow, wiping sweat from his forehead. A sneer broke across his face. "So what? I own half the tech infrastructure in this country! I run this town! Who the hell are you to question me, you over-glorified—"
Eleanor leaned down, placing two delicate bronze fingers against his jaw line, cutting him off mid-sentence. She bent in so close he could feel the cold brush of her skin and the rhythm of her breath against his face.
"I'll show you why everyone follows my rules," she whispered softly.
She stood straight, took a deliberate step back, and flicked her wrist.
A glowing, razor-thin red thread burst from her palm, shooting through the air and wrapping tightly around Moore's throat. The moment the magic hit his flesh, his entire body seized. His pupils dilated in sheer terror as complete paralysis locked his limbs in place. He couldn't move a muscle. He couldn't even draw air to scream.
Then, Eleanor's torso split open down the center.Her ribcage parted like a pair of blackened iron gates, revealing a swirling, endless abyss where her heart should have been. Within the crimson dark, hundreds of tormented souls writhed—glowing, translucent specters reaching out, clawing at the air, and wailing in silent agony.
Moore’s eyes bulged in absolute horror as he stared directly into her chest. He tried desperately to yell, to pray, to beg, but his paralyzed throat offered nothing.
Eleanor tilted her head back and laughed—a rich, melodic sound that echoed with the screams of a thousand dead men.
"Welcome to my ethereal hell," she purred.
With a slow raise of her hand, Moore's soul began to tear away from his physical frame. The spirit was ripped out inch by inch, agonizingly slow, as his energy was pulled straight into the open vortex of her chest. With a final, sickening tug, the light left his eyes entirely. His lifeless body went completely limp, collapsing flat onto the rug like an empty suit of clothes.Eleanor’s chest snapped shut, the glowing crimson fading back into her flawless bronze skin. Her cheeks flushed with fresh color, her dark hair shone with a rich gloss, and a surge of vitality coursed through her limbs. She looked even more radiant—and years younger—than she had moments before.
She adjusted her short neckline with a look of pure disgust, stepping over the corpse on the floor.
"I truly hate the ignorant ones," she muttered.
She turned toward the two guards waiting in the shadows of the room. "Throw him to the pigs."
Without another glance, Madam Death opened the door and glided smoothly back out into the party.