With glee

The box of blades shimmers with lingering magic as the last of the enchanted hands withdraw, fading through its panels like smoke caught in moonlight. Inside, Velvet Vixen is breathless, her costume rumpled in all the right places—her once-sleek corset slightly askew, her cape ruffled, strands of red hair tousled across her mask.

“Are all your tricks this hands-on,” she asks with a low, teasing smile, “or am I just your favorite?”

Her voice is husky, cheeky, full of the kind of swagger that’s earned after a very memorable illusion.

From outside, Madame Mirage giggles, her hand resting theatrically against her cheek.

“Oh, my darling…” she says, her voice positively velvet. “I haven’t even begun to get hands-on with you.”

With a twirl of her wand, the box explodes in a cloud of violet smoke—and when it clears, Velvet Vixen is back on the roulette wheel, arms and legs restrained once more, blinking in dazed delight.

She doesn’t even seem to mind.

Her smile is playful, her breathing light, and her posture relaxed despite the restraints. There’s a telltale sparkle of amusement in her eyes that wasn’t there before.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she mutters to herself with a giddy little laugh.

Her formal costume is slightly ruffled, the top loosened just enough to suggest recent magical chaos, and her hair has fallen in soft, charming waves across her shoulders.

Madame Mirage steps back into the spotlight, wand over one shoulder like a queen with her scepter.

“You wear enchantment well, my dear.”

She grins wide and slow, her gaze tracing Velvet Vixen’s pose like a painter admiring her muse.