Once upon a time, long before her pink-streaked hair & signature smirk— Before her hips swayed like truth itself, & her gaze undressed souls—she was known as something else entirely.
Her name was Sincerity—the embodiment of innocence. A girl born into obedience, shaped by doctrine, & baptized in submission.
Sincerity belonged to a cult of purity. A world where she was rewarded for shrinking. A place where she had to dress modestly, pray daily, & silence her spirit.
She was told who to be before she ever got to decide. Because she was young & smart, she listened to what she was taught by her elders.
Sincerity became the perfect student. Quiet, but not invisible. Polished, but not vain. She wore her mask with grace. Learning early that survival meant camouflage. She styled her hair just right, smiled when needed, & kept her real thoughts buried beneath layers of perfectly practiced composure.
But inside? She was burning.
In secret, Sincerity dreamed of freedom. Of passion, & tasting the fire she knew she carried deep in her soul. She was waiting…for the moment she could stop pretending. Waiting for her rebirth.
As she grew older, the mask no longer fit. She began to notice the reactions. The lingering stares. The way rooms shifted when she entered. Her power bloomed like a beautiful rose. She was gorgeous, dressed flawlessly, & her lethal intelligence made her a target.
Sincerity realized she didn’t have to ask anymore. She could take. So, she played the game like a pro. To the world, she was a butterfly. But beneath that soft beauty, she was a scorpion. They didn’t see the sting coming—until it was too late.
Her peers hated her for her confidence. They called her many names: “Too much.” “Too seductive.” “A whore.” Her makeup was too grown, her clothes too proper, & her personality was called stuck up. These opinions were based purely off of Sincerity’s appearance, & how she carried herself.
The haters called her names just because both men & women adored her? Because she knew how to use her presence like a spell?
This backlash made Sincerity learn to walk alone. Not trust many, & keep people at arms length. For years she focused: mind, body, & soul… for her great escape away from the noise.
It all changed one day in her production class.
She was minding her business, headphones in, zoning out like usual. Until she felt eyes on her—two girls, whispering & snickering as they looked directly at her.
Sincerity didn’t scare easily, so she walked right up to them.
“Did I make you laugh?” Sincerity asked the weak women coolly.
The blonde & the brunette looked at each other—& burst out laughing. The brunette with linebacker arms smirked & said,
“Everyone knows what you did last night.”
Sincerity blinked.
All she did last night was…
Oh no.
He didn’t.
The blonde pulled out her phone & flashes her screen in front of her face.
There it was: a photo of Sincerity mid-ritual, radiant in sacred vulnerability. Captioned: “Sincerity is a witch. Don’t trust this bitch.”
Sincerity’s heart dropped.
She trusted someone. Trusted a broken man who came to her for healing. Sincerity gave him her energy, her light, her gifts… & he betrayed her. Took advantage of her…
She stormed out, phone to her ear, dialing.
The man who posted the pictures picked up immediately.
“I told you,” he said, voice dripping with venom. “If you didn’t sleep with me, I’d tell everyone,” he spat at her.
Sincerity was silent.
She couldn’t believe it. She was being blackmailed. Defamed. And everyone believed him because of course they’d believe the “pretty girl” was a hoe, no matter what she said.
“You asked me for help,” Sincerity whispered into the phone. “You used me… Twisted something sacred into something filthy”, she says. Her voice cracking.
“It’s already done,” the immature boy laughed. “You thought you could do your little witchy things & not fuck me? You’re a joke,” he roars at her.
Then the line went dead.
Sincerity didn’t cry that day. She accepted it & walked out of class & never looked back.
She thought: Let them say what they want. Let them burn my name. I’m tired of living a lie anyway.
Sincerity knew what they were really afraid of: A woman in her power. A woman who didn’t need to ask. She knew the truth. She tried to care for an emotionally unstable man & he warped the truth when she didn’t give in to his advances. To her, it was only an act of love, not lust…
That night, Sincerity went home. She looked in the mirror, & dyed a pink streak into her hair, to change her identity. She was tired of the mask. The fraud version of her who had to act like someone she wasn’t. It was time to break free, even if it was against her will. She was strong enough to face the hate. It was normal for her.
No more hiding.
The name Sincerity didn’t belong to her anymore, so she shed it like old skin. From the ashes of girlhood— Sin was born.
Sin slipped into her black satin dress like armor & painted her lips the color of vengeance. She was no longer here to be understood. She was here to be remembered.
With her heels clicking like a war drum, she descended gracefully—into the underworld.
Not to be consumed by darkness, but to rule it. The greatest villains were once the purest angels.
And the Seductress?
She wasn’t created.
She was unleashed.
Part Two: The Underworld
The underground scene pulses with music & smoke— heavy with sinners & secrets.
Sin walks in slow, like a warning. Her black satin dress shimmers under the low lights—pink-streaked hair hidden beneath a black cloaked hood. Every step of her slingback heels echoes against the concrete with deadly grace.
She scans the room—misfits, monsters, & drunk men who thought they were gods. But one man made the noise blur.
He has green hair braided back with precision, & pink manicured nails glossy & sharp. The bronze man wears an open white shirt, black trousers, & patent leather tassel loafers that gleams like he knew he was the star of this underworld play. His diamond grills catch the light as he smirks at the man next to him, clearly tolerating nonsense.
Sin smiles to herself. She hates overly masculine men—their ego, their displaced emotions, their desperate need to perform. But this one? He is calm. Comfortable in his skin. Smooth & still.
Sin takes a seat in the far corner on a worn leather seat. She watches the crowd talk amongst themselves until the real show begins.
A short dark-skinned man in all black with gold rings on each finger walks up to the green haired guy.
“You should save the pink nails for your lady,” the puny man says to him, laughing at his own lame joke.
Green braids ignores him. Cool. Silent. Unbothered.
But the man clearly wants smoke tonight. His blood shot red eyes slide to Sin.
“Hey, bitch! He screams across the room to Sin. Maybe this man-lady can switch nails with you to match your Barbie-ass hair!” He screams with his drunken chuckle.
Laughter breaks out from his weak crew who surrounds him—vile sounds echoing across the room like rats squealing.
Sin is tired of people disrespecting her for no reason. What the fuck is wrong with these little dick men not respecting women? Sin doesn’t react. Not yet.
She stands slowly. She drops her hood, & gracefully strides over to the little man, stilettos clicking behind her. Tonight is the last night she’ll be singled out by a lowlife man.
Sin stops inches away from the inebriated man. He is shorter than her with her heels on. She tilts her head, smiling coldly as she looks down at him.
“I didn’t quite hear you,” Sin says in a breathy voice.
“What did you say to me?” She asks him with vengeance.
Then, almost mockingly sweet:
“Wait… maybe I should take off my heels… so we can be face to face,” Sin continues with sarcasm.
She slips off her black slingbacks, one by one. Now eye-level with the man. She holds the shoes in her hands like weapons.
Green hair leans back in his chair, watching with amusement & wonder in his deep brown eyes.
The rival man sneers, trying to reassert control.
“I said, bitch, you—”
Before he can finish, Sin slams one of her heels into his left eye.
Screams ripple through the room. Blood spatters across the table. People jump up, scattering, & knocking over chairs.
Sin smiles. “I guess you didn’t see from across the room with that bad eye that I’m not a bitch,” she spits coldly at him between his dramatic cries for help.
Sin starts laughing hysterically as the injured mans’ friends try to pull the heel from his socket.
“This lady is a psychopath!” Someone shrieks from behind her.
Suddenly, the green-haired man stands up & grabs Sin’s arm. Sin starts flailing around thinking he is trying to detain her; but his pink fingers grab the other stiletto from her hand & slams it into the bleeding man’s right eye.
Another scream. Louder. Horrific.
Green Braids leans down, towering over the crumpled man.
“Now you’ll never see the color of anything, bitch!” He snaps at him.
Sin’s jaw drops. She starts to laugh even louder, & green braids lets out a thunderous chuckle in sync with her.
Everyone else in the place flees. They hear sirens blare above ground in the distance. Sin starts to run away barefoot, but Green Braids grabs her by her wrists. His grip is steady, not forceful.
“What the hell!” Sin gasps.
“Follow me. We can’t go that way. It’s too hot—they’ll find us instantly,” he tells her in a serious voice.
Sin doesn’t question it. She follows him through winding passages, crumbling brick tunnels, & cold stairwells. Her lungs burn, but she keeps going.
Green Hair leads her into a hidden room, dark but luxurious. It looks like a bachelor’s hideout: velvet, steel, & mystery.
“You live here?” Sin asks him, breathless.
“One of many spots,” he says, opening a safe. He pulls out a gun & a fat stack of cash.
“I’m Saint.” He flashes a wide grin at her.
“What you did out there was insane,” Saint continues. Clearly entertained by Sin’s performance.
“I’m Sin,” she replies, finally catching her breath.
“And I could say the same about you,” Sin says with an intrigued smile.
She pushes her pink hair out of her face. Saint looks at her—really looks. Like he sees every part of her.
No fear. Just understanding.
Sin takes off her hood fully, & extends her hand. But instead of shaking it—Saint grabs her waist & pulls her close.
Their lips collide—hungry & reckless. Green & pink. Body to body. The adrenaline pours through them like gasoline. Clothes hit the floor in a frenzy. The room is wrecked when they finally come up for air.
“We have to go,” Sin commands.
“Now,” she says with authority.
Saint & Sin move fast. They throw on whatever clothes are near, gather what they can, & disappear into the night—two fugitives bound by vengeance, blood, & something dangerously close to fate.
TO BE CONTINUED…