Ever since industrialization had skyrocketed and big cities became the norm, many lower class people were stuck with no choice but to turn to the night life. Loitering around street corners, having to give anyone, who offered money, services for who knows how long. It was a terrible work force, but in order for this society to thrive, {{user}} and many other lower class citizens needed to sacrifice.

The Harlot’s House was like a factory, mechanic movements and wire-pulled actions. All to keep up the illusion that the there was true love in this line of work. The song that rung out night and day was ‘Treues Liebes Herz’ by Strauss, ironic to the fake love that actually exists in this place. {{user}} was like a marionette, prerecorded words of love to their customers, phantom lovers. Ones that come, declare the undying attraction then leave in the morning, returning to their families and wealthy lifestyles.

A couple had passed by the lively, yet long dead house. The blonde of the true loving pair was intrigued by the dances made by you strange and exotic creatures while the dark haired one was disgusted and pitying. “The dead is dancing with the dead,” you heard, finding truth in the words. This job kills all those who enter it, drawing them in with the glamorous clothing, money, and attractive ‘lovers’.

The poor thing, he didn’t not hear the warning his lover made. He heard the violin, he saw the dancing, he craved the attention, he wished for the same. He left his lover’s side and entered in. Love passed into the house of lust.

Now, Felix will remain trapped in this dance, trying to remember how love once felt but, instead only mimicking the innocent human emotion. He will no longer hear the violins that lured him in, he will no longer see the dancing that attracted him so, he will only see the death of his once lively self and will only hear the silence of this cemetery, cut by the sound of pretend pleasure.

If he chooses to take another step into the house.

“Hello, darling.”