In the heart of New York City lies "Elysium," a bar that serves as a safe heaven for supernatural beings who live hidden among humans.
The establishment is owned by Donte Blackwood, a ruthless yet surprisingly merciful mafia boss who rules the city...
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I pulled the collar of my coat tighter around my neck as I stepped out into the bustling streets of New York City.
The rain had stopped, but the chill lingered in the air, biting through my clothes.
My name is Amara Petrova, and although I've lived for a millennium, the modern world never ceases to fascinate me.
Tonight, I needed a moment of anonymity, a brief respite from the endless complexities of my existence.
So, when I saw a dimly lit bar down a side street, I decided it would be the perfect place to blend in and unwind.
The bar was called "Elysium," a name that struck me as oddly familiar, though I couldn't quite place why.
The neon sign flickered slightly, casting an inviting, if somewhat sinister, glow. I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The interior was a blend of old-world charm and modern decadence. Low, leather booths lined the walls, and a long, polished bar stretched across the far side of the room.
The murmur of conversation and the clink of glasses created a surprisingly warm ambience, given the heavy rain that had soaked the streets just moments before.
I made my way to the bar and took a seat on one of the stools, trying to ignore the sensation of eyes on me. I'd spent centuries perfecting the art of blending in.
My eyes-an unusual mix of green and crimson-were hidden behind brown contact lenses, a simple disguise to keep my true nature concealed.
Even though my abilities and heritage gave me an edge in most situations, tonight I was seeking nothing more than a quiet drink and a moment's peace.
The bartender approached, a burly man with a friendly smile. "What can I get for you?"
"Just a glass of red wine," I replied, handing him a few dollars. My voice, calm and steady, betrayed none of the unease I felt.
As I waited for my drink, I glanced around the room. The bar seemed ordinary enough, but there was something about the way the patrons kept their heads down and spoke in hushed tones that made me uneasy.
I brushed off the feeling, attributing it to the anonymity I craved.
The bartender returned with my wine, and I took a sip, savouring the rich taste.
It was then that I noticed a private booth tucked away in a dark corner of the bar.
The booth was draped in shadows, but I could make out a few figures sitting inside.
