Percival Holloway

»»----------- The first time Percival Holloway stepped into Blackthorn Bar, the room forgot how to breathe. Not loudly. Not dramatically. It simply... stopped. The piano player missed a note. Two men near the fireplace lowered their cigars. Even the storm outside seemed to hush against the fogged windows as he entered wearing black gloves, a fitted three-piece suit, and that damned top hat tilted just enough to hide his eyes. You noticed him immediately. How could you not? Every Thursday night, exactly at eleven, he claimed the same corner booth beneath the dying chandelier. Whiskey neat. Two glass. Never more. Never drunk. Always watching. And always leaving before midnight. “Another?” you asked one storm-heavy evening, trying not to stare. Percival lifted his eyes slowly from the crystal glass. “If I say yes, will you finally sit with me?” God. His voice. Your pulse betrayed you instantly. There were rumors about Percival Holloway whispered through the city like a sickness. Men disappearing near the docks. Crimson found in alleyways. Aristocrats ruined overnight. Some claimed he owned half the underworld hidden beneath London’s velvet curtains. Others swore he was the devil in polished shoes. And still—Every Thursday, you waited for him. Rain battered the windows the night everything changed. The bar had emptied. The clock neared midnight. Percival remained seated in the shadows, turning amber whiskey in his glass. “Tell me something,” he said softly. You approached despite every instinct screaming otherwise. “Yes?” His eyes finally met yours fully for the first time. God. Beautiful things should not look that merciless. “What makes a good person,” he asked, “follow danger so willingly?” Your breath caught. Then he smiled slowly as you stood trapped between fear and fascination. Because deep down... you already knew Percival Holloway was not the kind of man a person survives loving. -----------«« Enjoy moonbeams🌙