East

The east side of the city is the very heart of Sacrosanct - it's unique skyline is a clash between modern sky rises and small Victorian-inspired storefronts. In the heart of downtown, the sleek colored glass buildings reign supreme though their old-world roots can be seen in the most peculiar places from the lamp post styled electric street light to the stone sidewalks. The old world architecture slowly returns the further from downtown you travel, however. It's here that magic thrives, it hums in every stone and can be felt in every breath. Often, newcomers to the city may become overwhelmed by such sensations but, eventually, it becomes an ever-present feeling that's hardly noticed.

What You'll Find Here

City Creek Center
Dark Hunter Department
Inner Sanctum
Red on the Water
Starlight Tower

WILLIAM; we are the sign, we are the wonder


Posted on September 06, 2016 by anastasia romanova
East

Anastasia Romanova
It would have been disingenuous indeed for it to be denied that there existed a certain measure of apprehension, no doubt bred of moral repugnance, that punctuated her outting this eve. It was not to be presumed that she lacked introduction to the idea of a burlesque; after all, when one had witnessed the dawn and dusk of a century they tended to be introduced to rather a lot of things. It was, more so than not, a significantly influential byproduct of having spent her formative years beneath the heft of royal expectations. In the time of Anastasia's transformation only a certain clutch of women would have dared parade about in garish outfits for the oft-lascivious delight of a crowd of wayward men, none of whom she had ever dared socialize with. It would seem that not even the corrosive tide of a hundred years or more could weather that which had been instilled within her at so youthful an age.

Yet still did the length of her shadow cast its shade unto the stone doorstep of the Cat's Meow, the clicking of polished heels forfeited to the atmosphere, consumed by the lively thrum of the melodies within. This would, she hoped, prove a brief and productive errand that would soon see the Grand Duchess liberated from the cloying smog of perfume and alcohol. She glides beyond the establishment's threshold with all of the poise and grace to be expected of former royalty, scrupulous eyes perusing the gathered crowd for a generous handful of moments before falling dutifully upon her intended. It was yet another victory of the innate intuitiveness gifted to her by her creator; a formidable cheat, as it were, employed to make short work of what would have otherwise been a decidedly irksome game of cat and mouse.

Easily does Anastasia pilfer out an empty booth for herself, no sooner straightening the black cocktail dress that clung impressively to her curves than she was approached by a finely-dressed member of the wait staff. Proffering up not a word, simply motioning to the man she seeks to lure, does she send off the young woman to fetch whatever it was this William had seen fit to fill his glass with. Not a glance is offered to the stage, the rhythmic flouncing of scantily-clad dancers hardly a matter of care now or ever for the auburn-haired damsel. Instead does she monitor the journey of the waitress as she deposits the libation upon the table at the man's side, motioning with an unheard explanation to the elegantly-garbed woman in the far booth, a simper plucking easily at the cherried brims of Anastasia's lips.

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