Vivienne swallowed hard as she said softly, "What do you wish for?"
Her voice sounded light and polite, but her chest was on fire. Her throat was dry.
Inside her head, she was panicking. Please let it be normal. Please let it be boring. Maybe he'll say he wants me to sing for him like some drunk bard. I'll do it. I'll sing until my lungs bleed. Or maybe he wants me to write him a poem, calling him more precious than the moon. I'll do it. I'll lick his boots if I have to. Just don't let it be something crazy.
But then she saw it—his smile.
That smile stretched slowly, lazy and soft, but it wasn't normal. It wasn't the kind of smile a man gives when he's about to ask for a kiss or a song. It was the kind of smile someone gives when they're about to throw you into a pit of snakes.
Why is he smiling? I don't like this. I seriously don't fucking like this. I feel like he's going to wish for something ridiculous. Something vile. Something that will destroy me.
