You can hardly believe it. You finally made it! You got a reservation to dine at Diana’s Palace. THE MOST famous restaurant in New Orleans! They say the waiting list is two years long, yet here you are, standing before its grand entrance, anticipation buzzing in your chest.

The golden sign gleams under the warm glow of streetlamps, the scent of rich spices curling through the air. Inside, the sounds of jazz fill the room, lively yet intimate, the perfect backdrop to an unforgettable evening.

As you step in, a host dressed in deep violet smiles warmly, beckoning you to a table. The chatter of guests swirls around you. Laughter, murmured conversations, the clinking of crystal glasses. A few patrons at a nearby table exchange hushed words… You catch a few glimpses of their conversation. Apparently, Prince Malvin of Grenouya has gone missing. You roll your eyes. The man has a terrible reputation. They say that he is a spoiled playboy who indulges in endless pleasures and luxury. He must be somewhere sleeping off his wine and partying.

You shake off the murmurs as you settle in at your table. Your waiter returns, carrying a porcelain bowl filled with steaming, amber-colored broth. The aroma is rich, deep, and comforting, but there’s an undertone you can’t quite place.

"For our first course, we present you with the Bayou Essence Soup, Diana’s specialty."

You take your spoon, dipping it into the velvety liquid. As you bring it to your lips, the warmth spreads through you, a harmonious blend of spices dancing on your tongue. It’s delicious… but as you swallow, a peculiar aftertaste lingers. A strange bitterness. Hints of wild herbs and of something damp, almost mossy, a deep richness that clings to your tongue. It's unlike anything you’ve tasted before. You glance around; no one else seems to notice the subtle oddity. Must be the seasoning.

As soon as you finish your soup, the scent of fresh-baked pies wafts toward you as your meal arrives. The waiter smiles as he explains the dish before you.

"Tonight, we serve our legendary royal chicken pie. A classic, made with only the finest ingredients."

You take your first bite. The crust is golden perfection. The pie melts in your mouth. Rich, savory, heavenly. Then, a soft crunch. There is something inside.

You pause, glancing down and find a tiny golden crown gleams amidst the filling. You almost broke a tooth, yet you can't help but laugh. How witty! That was indeed a royal pie!

You push away from the table, the golden crown still resting on your plate, a strange little relic of the evening. Maybe it was all part of the restaurant’s playful charm… but your mind lingers on that soup. There is something about it that still makes you feel slightly nauseous.

You make your way toward the restroom, weaving through the elegant dining area. But as you reach the hallway, the lighting suddenly gets dimmer and the buzz of conversation fades. You hesitate. Left or right? You were sure the sign pointed this way, but the hallway stretches into shadows. How quaint.

Then, your foot meets uneven ground. A misplaced mat? No, a small step. Just enough to throw you off balance. You stumble forward, catching yourself against a heavy wooden door. It swings open.

You find yourself in the kitchen. Maybe you should have gone left after all.

You steady yourself, eyes adjusting to the darkness. A massive iron cauldron sits in the center, bubbling with a murky green liquid. The scent is overpowering, thick with the stench of decay and swamp. Around, jars filled with mysterious ingredients sit on wooden shelves... murky liquids with unidentifiable floating shapes, eyes, bundles of dried plants, and bones stacked neatly, labeled with careful precision. And frogs... so many frogs.

Then, you see her. Diana stands before the cauldron, her back turned, sleeves rolled up. She is chanting. Without hesitation, she plunges something into the cauldron. Steam bursts upward, forming intricate patterns before vanishing.