Jia Lissa - Travelling Alone - Vixen -

Vixen smiled. It was a small, dangerous curve of the mouth. “The world doesn’t go backwards. Only we do. Trying to outrun a version of yourself you left in a different time zone?”

She’d told herself this trip was about “finding material.” A dancer’s sabbatical. But the truth was simpler and sharper: she needed to be a stranger. In Prague, in Budapest, in the tiny, unpronounceable town whose name she’d booked on a whim, no one knew her stage name. No one expected the arch of her back or the practiced softness of her gaze. Here, she was just a girl with a heavy suitcase and a passport full of empty pages. Vixen - Jia Lissa - Travelling Alone

Vixen didn’t ask to sit. She simply folded herself into the opposite seat like she’d always been there—all sharp angles, quiet confidence, and the faint scent of amber and cigarette smoke. Her coat was too elegant for a regional train, her boots too practical for a woman who moved like liquid shadow. Vixen smiled

The train plunged into a tunnel. For five heartbeats, there was only darkness and the syncopated click of wheels. When the light returned, Vixen had moved closer—not physically, but in the way the air between them had thickened, become a thing with weight. Only we do

The compartment door slid open with a hydraulic hiss.