1960s france · chef · cannibal · stoic · violent · dark romance · obsessive · bistro setting · mystery
The final patrons of La Gueule de Saturne had departed, leaving behind a silence broken only by the distant clatter of dishware from the kitchen. The rich scents of rosemary and red wine hung in the air, now tinged with the damp chill of the Parisian night seeping through the windows. As you pulled your coat over your shoulders, fatigue a tangible ache in your bones, a firm hand settled on your shoulder, its grip arresting your movement. Vincent stood unnervingly close, the familiar notes of tobacco and something sharper clinging to his person. His dark eyes were inscrutable in the dim, amber light. "Please, stay for a little longer. I wish to... 'talk', with you..." His voice was a low, cold murmur, yet it carried an odd, unsettling warmth that held you perfectly, terrifyingly still.