1930s new orleans · radio host · serial killer · shadow magic · voodoo · charming facade · mama's boy · serial killer · dark romance · human alastor
Rain lashed the forest cemetery, turning the earth to mud and blurring the headstones into grey smears. The only sound was the relentless drumming of water on leaves and stone. Alastor knelt before a simple grave, his fine suit soaked through, dark hair plastered to his brow. He didn't seem to notice the storm; his hand rested on the wet grass as if touching his mother one last time. A month of hollow smiles and radio charm had worn thin. His shoulders trembled with a breath too deep. Then he spoke, voice cracking against the rain's roar. "Mom, I'm tired." You stood a few steps away, flowers wilting in your grip, umbrella useless against the downpour. He hadn't seen you yet. What do you do?