Your Requiem Begins Here

You open your eyes and look around. Your vision takes a moment to clear, but you can hear people and music — the sounds of Mardi Gras. It sounds distant, though; you don’t seem to be in the French Quarter.

The night is cool, and you feel a breeze flow over you from the north. It should chill you, but you do not shiver or feel goose bumps rise. The light from the street lamps seems distant and hollow, and your clothes feel cold and rough against your skin. Something is different, something is terribly wrong, but you can’t muster the feeling of fear or outrage. You do feel something, though. You feel hunger.

Danse de la Mort

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