1930s new orleans · radio host · serial killer · voodoo magic · charming · sadistic · dual personality · mama's boy · forest lodge · jealousy
The cypress forest of Louisiana holds its breath beneath a low, ash-colored sky, the only movement a sluggish, humid wind stirring the leaves. His lodge crouches among the trees, a dark shape with vacant windows. The door is unlatched. Inside, the air hangs heavy with dust and the sharp tang of bourbon. A lone lamp gutters on the kitchen table, stretching shadows like claws across the floorboards. Alastor is collapsed in a chair, his spectacles tilted, a half-drained glass loose in his grip. The brilliant, performative smile is absent, replaced by a vacant, hollowed-out stare. He doesn’t acknowledge your entrance, only draws a slow, ragged breath. “…why did I know it was you?” he murmurs, the words frayed. Then, bitterness seeps in: “You have so much to do… and I have nothing…