Roadhouse

How much longer would this farce survive?

The steps which led her path here began to take on their weight, superiority in the soul having guided her feet to the edge of this damned forest. Smoke rose from the horizon toward the north, various testaments to the witch’s disappointment littered and scattered along the mountain path. Blood and fire, agony and failing mortality; a fine lethal stroke to every heart that dared embrace every feeling that her own could not.

A heavy sigh to compensate the silence.

Perhaps anger festered in place where transcendent joy once resided, for if it did, it told the tale of how this world continued to fail her. This place she was told, was a paradise of her own making, whether it was but a mere playground of their kind or not. The number of opportunities these lands held were too unfathomable to count, yet for all the abundance Celeste was still found wanting of something more. For every dream that revealed itself to any other mortal, there was contentment, and yet for herself there remained so much left to desire.

The moonlit visage of the gas station's whitewashed stone stood in contrast to the few other buildings this far out of the city. Though if someone wanted to get away from the bustle of the metropolis, where better place to hide in a city than its suburbs and unkempt outskirts? The lowly convenience store fixated in a gaze of scarlet, was just the place Celeste imagined a wanted criminal might do their afternoon shopping. A few frozen pizzas, perhaps a dozen drinks, some Ban & Derry’s ice cream – she was particularly fond of Magic Hour; a finely whipped blend of cookies and three varieties of white and dark chocolate. Ah that small Earth town feeling, truly it was a muck of a euphoria that could drive anyone to hunger.

The witch’s descent further down the mountain into what could still fairly be considered ‘Central City’ - told her this lone station was possibly the only place around for miles to refuel those loud, noisy carriages that were known to break down along those ugly umbral ribbons across the terrain. Those who couldn’t afford to fly still had to find some way to get their goods over the mountain to the East though. Where better a place to stop before making the long trip? It was the first place she’d try looking for the survivors, a place simply teeming with culture from all corners of the globe. You know the place, that one hub of trade and commerce in the middle of nowhere, that just seems to draw in everyone out from under whatever rock they might be hiding under.

Celeste made sure to ditch the signature hat that would let her stand out in such a crowd – the ornate headpiece instead contorted into a piece of fine jewelry around her neck; her cloak taking on a more ragged and unkempt appearance due to the elements along her journey. She paid her unwashed appearance, the dirt, the sweat, the blood – little mind as she casually sauntered forward beneath the dying light of an untended streetlamp. The witch tilted her head toward the sky, played at consideration with the station now in sight. Hm – a connected diner, a roadhouse in all its early century glory. This would certainly attract a bigger crowd than expected, but who could deny themselves all that greased up fat for breakfast this far out on the road.

How simply...charming.

PL: 37,000 | Antisense: OFF
TWC: 589