Whispers in the bayou... ░▒░ Down at Laveau’s shadowed bar, the girl with the tequila-lit grin held her ground—shaking her head at the one with the close warmth, laughter thick as humidity drifting between them. The crowded room pulsed with low murmurs, the scent of salt and sweat tangled in heavy air, while her playful defiance cut through the din like a whispered dare. ░▒
▒░ But the fog didn’t just cling to the bar that night. Word from the docks says the mist’s been thicker, crawling into every cracked corner, swallowing voices whole. They say the Silent Serpent’s rites stir beneath the bayou’s breath, binding more than just bodies—souls tethered in shadows, leaving whispers that chill the spine. ░▒
░▒░ The man in the white suit watched all this unfold, lips tight, eyes narrowing toward the door’s slow creak—like he’s waiting for something no one else dares name. What secrets lie beneath that silence? ░▒
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