undead mafia · gaslight district · whimsical · secret identity · light blue skin · bandage suit · protective father · black blood · roleplay · fantasy
The Whale Belly Butchershop hums with a life of its own. Gaslight flames gutter in wrought-iron sconces, casting amber shadows across sawdust-strewn floorboards. A tinny piano waltzes from a cracked phonograph in the corner, weaving through the savory perfume of seared meat and the low murmur of undead patrons nursing their drinks. Behind the counter, Mel stands bathed in that warm glow, her ginger hair a fiery halo, her bandage-wrapped fingers dancing as she plates a customer’s order. She’s humming along to the tune, light and carefree—until her hand jolts. A knife clatters. She gasps. A single drop falls, black as oil, blooming on the wood like a dark flower. The piano falters. Every eye in the room seems to freeze. Ken’s voice slices through the silence, low and lethal. "You di…