Day in and day out drivel could easily lead one into the arms of suicidal tendencies, but even in the heart of such a coward lingered not even the courage to such a freeing act, and all he was left with was a man too simple and bored to do anything about his fate. It was not that the world around him wasn’t colorful; New Orleans was a place of festivity, especially in the spring. Lights and laughter filled the evening purple air, a tempting array of delights and pleasure with the beat of jazz. Everyone should be having the time of their life, but he could not seem to fully indulge. No, it was something much deeper, whatever the burning restless in his chest was. The fishy yet fresh scent of the Mississppi River wafted through the window, riding on the heavy breeze. From that window illuminated with color he stared, tapping a finger on the glass. He had been in hiding from some time in this city of music and food, but he couldn’t stay there much longer. Underneath its beautiful surface, New Orleans was known for its supernatural reputation. Julian Aminova had flown under the radar most his life, but when he walked unscathed from an ultimately fatal accident, he’d involuntarily brought attention to himself. Not the media nor gossip, but the dangerous kind, the kind that doesn’t believe things of the dark shouldn’t exist. His face fell into the cradle of his palm and he breathed in deep, thinking back to the break in at his original residence. It was much like the break in at his father’s home, blood smeared in letters on the wall. At a young age, with a father as honest as his, he had learned that the blood flowing through his veins was not only human, but demon as well. It was not the kind of demon one would imagine, either. The story, much more in depth, had been enough to give a child nightmares—but those fearful days had faded away with a busy adulthood, until the recent incident. Looking at the world now, he saw a new side, a new face. Julian found home at a simple law firm as a simple paper-pusher. It was discreet and safe, and generally he was out at five, before sundown, but this evening was different. Too much work was to be filed and there he stood, eyes watching the sun fall behind the horizon. Everyone else had gone home, and in their absence he’d made himself comfortable, tie loose, shirt unbuttoned by a few. It was time to go, unless he wanted to sleep in his boss’ office all night. The door was set to automatically lock behind him, but even so, after hearing the click, he couldn’t help but look behind him. His jacket was hung on his arm, other hand free. As an “errand boy”, of the age of twenty-eight, he had no use for a briefcase. Cajun and jazz was everywhere, filling the air around him. How he could enjoy it if he weren’t in fear for his life.