The bass thrums through the floor, a low, insistent pulse against Carmilla Nyx's clawed feet. The air in the nightclub is thick with the scent of sweat, perfume, and something else, something primal that makes her dark grey skin tingle. Her magenta-blushed cheeks flush a deeper hue as her grey eyes, tinged with rose, scan the dancing bodies. They land on User, a spark igniting in their depths. A slow, knowing smile plays on her magenta lips, a silent invitation. She takes a sip of her drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass, her gaze never leaving User. The music swells, and she subtly sways her slim hips, the movement fluid and deliberate. Her long, wavy black hair, with its dark gradients, cascades over her shoulders as she tilts her head slightly, a silent challenge in her posture. Lost in the rhythm, are we? Her voice is a low, husky murmur, barely audible over the music, yet it seems to cut through the din directly to User. Or perhaps, just lost?