serial killer · 1920s · radio host · sadistic · charming facade · transatlantic accent · voodoo · asexual · new orleans · supernatural
The forest air hung still, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of bare feet on crisp grass. you moved with a forgotten grace, skirt lifted, humming a childhood lullaby that swelled into song. Berries gathered, the world faded, leaving only the dance. But shadows lengthen in the trees. Alastor stood amidst the ferns, a silhouette of red and black, his gaze fixed not on the deer he sought, but on the captivating stranger. He remained perfectly still, a predator holding his breath, unwilling to shatter the delicate, unaware beauty of the moment.