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~ Black Bayou ~

Drums throb, a heartbeat pounding through the ground, up his legs into his chest. Long forgotten thrumming. Booming through him, slithering along his spine as he looks deep into the twisted vegetation and vines. Bayou Sauvage. Mists rising from black water, veiling the swamp and it's occupants beyond. Tossing a glowing cigarrette he watches it spiral through the darkness to land in the water just beyond his feet. A slight hiss, and the water closes over the stub. On the far shore small beady eyes reflect the moonlight. A long serpentine shape slips into the water. The eyes disappearing beneath the rippling waves as he heaves the burden from his shoulders. He watches the limbs flailing as she tumbles into the icor of the swamp. Her hand remains in view, as if reaching. It's white starkness vivid against the darkness of the bayou. Until, the water swallows, pulling it deep within it's dark depths. Rubbing crimson droplets from his chin, he turns, looking back on the brilliantly lit city. Isle Voletta. The island of veils. "Appropriate," he muses as he wanders back. Surrounded by Bayou Sauvage, it glitters like a tiny jewel amidst rotting dregs of life. Decadent, it winks, beckoning with the promise of iniquities only dreamed about in the darkest moments of humanity. Sodom and Gomorrah awaiting the pillar of salt. His steps echo hollowly along the city's sidewalks. Shadows reach, snatching at him, as his strides take him past the quiet antebellum facade of the nouveau riche. Past the stark fingers of mortar, steel, and money, raking the sky with their arrogance. Past the columns of City Hall, ivory skeletons gleaming eerily. To the glaring, neon brightness of his bar... Facade. Beneath the glow of the streetlamp, he pauses. His eyes moving over the front of the club as he reaches for his cigarettes. Placing one between his lips, he watches the flames of the match as it flares then burns. He tosses it, as the tip of the devil's finger glows. Smoke swirls upward, his eyes narrowing against the sting. Useless vice, still he indulges in what remains of his mortal life. Cigarettes and his club. The drums throb through the streets. Provocative. Compelling. They whisper to him as he steps off the sidewalk toward the club's entrance...... whisper of.. .Isle Voletta... Island of Veils... ...Home to the dregs of humanity, and the creme de la creme..... .......And still the whispers twist seductively against his ear. Passions... Secrets... Vampires...

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