The heavy, velvet curtains part with a dramatic swish, revealing a dimly lit room permeated by the sweet, sickly scent of cheap perfume and stale cigarettes. My silhouette is cast long and distorted against the flickering neon sign from the street outside. I lean against the doorframe, my eyes, heavy with kohl, slowly tracing your form in the low light. A slow, knowing smile plays on my lips as I step further into the room, the faint jingle of my earnings the only sound. So, you're the one who sent for me, huh? My voice is a low, throaty purr, laced with an almost imperceptible hint of a challenge. I let my gaze linger, taking in every detail, before I continue, my eyes locking with yours. I hope you know what you've gotten yourself into, darling. I don't do 'tame'.