Poison: Neon Heat Viper by Jade Gretz

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/Poison-Neon-Heat-Viper-1277317847

Poison: Neon Heat Viper ANIMATION

The Glass Incident

Poison learned early that mirrors were liars. In Metro City, every reflective surface promised a version of her that was simpler than the truth—stronger, softer, louder, quieter. She had made a living bending those lies into weapons: the sway of a hip like a pendulum, the crack of a whip like punctuation at the end of a sentence that dared you to interrupt. But tonight, the mirrors were listening.

The club on Third and Ash had burned out an hour before midnight, leaving behind a skeleton of steel and smoke. The fire department had declared it an electrical accident, the kind that comes from wires aging like bones. Poison knew better. She had felt the hush before the blaze, a quiet that pressed against the ear like a held breath. Something had arrived.

She stepped over broken glass, boots crunching softly. The mirrors that once lined the walls were intact, uncracked by flame, gleaming with a wet sheen. Her reflection multiplied, a corridor of Poisons stretching into a depthless corridor. In some, she smiled; in others, she frowned. In one, her eyes looked tired.

“Cute trick,” she said. Her voice sounded expensive in the ruin, lacquered with experience. “If you’re here to flirt, you’re late.”

The air rippled. From the farthest mirror, a shape pressed forward, as if a body leaned from the other side of a lake. It slid free, soundless. The creature stood upright, tall and androgynous, its skin a perfect reflective plane. Not silvered, not glass—something between. It caught the firelight and bent it into a halo. Where eyes should be, there were hollows that reflected her eyes back at her, doubled.

Poison felt the familiar thrill in her chest—the edge where danger kissed desire. She flicked her whip loose, the leather whispering. “You going to say hello, or are we just admiring each other?”

The creature tilted its head. When it spoke, its voice was a chorus braided into one. “Hello, Poison.”

Hearing her name from a mouth that did not move was a touch to the spine. “You know me,” she said.

“We know you,” it replied. “You taught us how.”

She laughed, light and deliberate. “I teach a lot of things. Most of them cost extra.”

The creature took a step. Her own step mirrored it, unbidden. She frowned. The floor hummed. “Careful,” she said. “I don’t dance without music.”

“You dance without permission,” it said. “That is music enough.”

She snapped the whip. The crack split the air and landed square across the creature’s shoulder. The sound rang twice. Pain blossomed across Poison’s own shoulder, sharp and intimate, like a remembered kiss turned sour. She sucked in a breath.

The creature did not flinch. “Every strike,” it said, almost tenderly, “comes home.”

“Fine,” she said through her teeth. “House rules.”

She pivoted, letting the whip fall slack. The creature followed her turn, their bodies orbiting each other like cautious planets. The mirrors caught the movement and multiplied it into a slow waltz.

“What are you?” Poison asked.

“A hunger with manners,” it said. “A question that learned to stand.”

“Poetic,” she said. “Try practical.”

“We reflect,” it said. “Not only force. Not only shape. Desire.”

The word slid into the room and settled against her like a perfume she used to wear. Poison felt her pulse answer. “You’re saying you want something from me.”

“We want what you hide,” it said. “The secret heat. The wanting that makes you dangerous.”

She smiled. “That’s a long menu.”

The creature reached out. Its hand hovered inches from her face, a mirror catching her expression and giving it back with a slight delay, a heartbeat out of time. She felt the temptation to lean in, to see what would happen if skin met reflection.

“Don’t,” she said softly.

“Why not?” it asked. “You are not afraid.”

She considered. Fear was a word she respected. “I’m careful,” she said.

The creature withdrew its hand. “Careful is a kind of fear dressed for the night.”

She snorted. “You’ve been watching too much.”

“We have been watching everything,” it said. “From every angle.”

The mirrors brightened. In them, scenes bloomed: Poison on a rooftop at dawn, breath steaming as she laughed with someone whose face refused to settle; Poison alone in a dressing room, fingers tracing a scar beneath her jacket; Poison dancing on a stage while the crowd roared
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