A Chilled Vintage

Night had arrived, and an icon of the macabre simply cannot retire without an evening libation, darling. On the corner side table sat a heavy faceted crystal decanter, crowned with an oversized glass stopper. I strutted over and leaned my full weight against the heavy multifaceted sphere, determined to uncork the mysterious amber draught within. The heavy stopper barely budged, but my heel slipped sideways, tapping a tall metal cocktail stirrer resting in a glass. It set off an echoing, silvery ring like a private midnight chime. Startled? Never. I effortlessly draped one arm over the polished crystal facets, arched an eyebrow at the empty room, and struck a languid pose as if I had orchestrated the entire symphony myself.