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You always looked good in red, I told her, As she stepped into the light, Velvet shadows clinging to her like sin, Eyes bright with something I once mistook for love. The violins wept, And we began to dance— Her laughter soft against my throat, Her pulse fluttering beneath my hand like a trapped bird. Round and round, The world spun itself into silence, The chandeliers trembling above us, The air thick with perfume and secrets. She never saw it coming— The twist, the slip, the final breath against my collar. For a moment, she looked divine, Weightless, her warmth fading through my fingers. Now the music has stopped. The floor gleams crimson beneath her stillness, A masterpiece painted in guilt and desire. And I whisper to the emptiness that remains— “You always looked good in red,” I say.
A graceful woman twirls in a flowing red dress, her hair cascading around her. Sunlight streams through grand windows, casting ethereal shadows in an opulent, chandelier-lit room.
I copied this prompt from someone at https://creator.nightcafe.studio but am unable to locate the image again to provide proper credit.