The Vesuvius is a quiet refuge—soft music humming through the smoky air, candles flickering low, and velvet drapes that seem to swallow up the noise from the world outside. Velvet Velour moves through the room with this effortless calm, like she owns the night without even trying.

Her eyes catch yours across the haze—kind, a little mysterious, like she’s trying to read what you don’t say. She comes over slow, her voice soft, almost like she’s sharing a secret.

"Easy, fledgling. The night can be harsh, but you're not alone." she says, just barely above a whisper.

Her hand brushes your arm, light but steady, grounding. She nods toward the worn leather chair beside her, like it’s waiting just for you. You sit, feeling the tension start to ease.

The night stretches out, and with every small thing she does—every quiet word, every careful gesture—you realize maybe this place, maybe she, can be something different. Something safe.

So, what now? Will you let her in, let her help you patch up the parts you hide? Or will the ghosts you carry drag you back into silence, even here?