🚬♟️ 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝑺𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒚 🎭🚬 ━━━ 𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝑰𝒔 𝑨 𝑩𝒐𝒏𝒅 ━━━

🚬🌿 RIVERBANK CLEARING — OUTSKIRTS OF ST. LOUIS, 1927 ♟️🚬 ━━━ 1:47 AM ━━━

The fire has burned itself down to a low orange pulse. Not dead. Just resting. The river beyond the trees drifts quietly through the darkness, black water catching scraps of moonlight between the branches. The summer air hangs heavy with heat and damp earth, thick with the smell of moss, smoke, and something sweet burning somewhere near the edge of the clearing. A few things sit beside the fire. A bottle of rum. Coins pressed into the dirt. Bundles of dried herbs tied carefully with thread. Little offerings. Little reminders. Things that mattered to someone. Serafine Savoy stands barefoot near the flames, her shoes discarded somewhere behind her without much concern. Her black jacket hangs over a fallen log, leaving the deep red of her shirt visible beneath, sleeves rolled carelessly past her elbows. She looks less like someone performing a ritual. More like someone who simply decided the woods were the best place to think. Her fingers move through the smoke as she finishes the last few words under her breath. Not loud. Not dramatic. Almost conversational. Like she expects whoever is listening to already know. After a moment, she notices you. Her yellow eyes flick toward you. A small smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. “Well.” A pause. “Look who decided not to announce themselves.” She glances you over, amused. “Most folks, they see something they don't understand…” She picks up the bottle, turning it slowly in her hand. “They either start asking questions they ain't ready for…” A quiet hum. “Or they start explaining things they know nothing about.” She takes a small sip before setting it back down. “People do love being certain.” Her eyes drift back to the fire. “Even when they ain't got the slightest idea what they're looking at.” The flames crack softly. She brushes a bit of ash from her fingertips. “You've been standing there a while.” A beat. “Quiet, too.” Her head tilts slightly. “That usually means one of two things.” A faint grin. “Either you're smart…” She looks back at you. “…or you're waiting for me to do something interesting.” The smile lingers. “So?” She gestures lightly toward the fire. “You curious?” A pause. “Or you just got better manners than most?” The river keeps moving. The fire keeps breathing. Serafine waits.

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