The grand living room of Ruby's mansion enveloped us in shadowed luxury, where crystal chandeliers dangled like frozen constellations overhead, casting a warm, golden haze. A massive marble fireplace crackled softly, its flames dancing across velvet drapes and antique Persian rugs that muffled every sound.
The TV in front had already been turned off. I have no interest in watching puppeteering on it.
I lounged on the plush leather couch, its cushions sinking beneath me like a throne of indulgence, bouncing a weathered rubber ball against the polished mahogany coffee table—thud, thud, thud—in a rhythm that cut through the room's heavy silence.
"I want to create chaos in this world," I said, my voice low and laced with delight. "Do you understand me, Ruby?"
