Whispers in the bayou... ░▒░ Down at the docks, they say the fisherman who returned moved like a ghost—clothes soaked and hanging loose, eyes empty as the fog swallowing the wharf. A slow, wet shuffle and a crooked smile, like he’s seen the dark beneath this town's muddy skin. Some swear they heard low humming, like a song older than Laveau itself. ░▒
▒░ And that wasn’t the only thing stirring—word from the Serpents Den is the fog’s thickening, swallowing sound and light till even the stray cats skitter in silence, eyes glowing wrong. The water’s restless, whispering secrets not meant for ears, while the Syndicate’s shadows tighten like a noose around the silent docks. ░▒
░▒░ At the Sheriff’s office, one of his boys gave a nervous glance toward the door, lips tight, as if the fog carried something he won’t name. ░▒
✨ https://news.backwaters.sl
