Outskirts of Bordeaux

Even in the distance, Bordeaux is clearly visible: Light pollution from the city has turned the sky a rueful yellow that obscures the stars in its vicinity. Closer home, vineyards dominate the landscape and fields of budding grapes enrich the cool air with their varied scents. You spend a moment trying to isolate the nuances and differences of the grapes. Once the mansions had belonged to an order of monks dedicated to the local Saint Émile Duval, before the French Republic during the revolution had liberated the estates. Leaving only the fortified Basilica your hometown had grown around in the Catholic Church's care. With tourism and wine as the town's main sources of income, a long line of mayors had prioritized restoration and cultural preservation efforts so it's easy for eager tourists to overlook the hints of modern architecture and technology hiding at the town's edges.

Nearing one of the buildings at the outskirts, you see ivy clamouring to the cracks in the mortar. While the unkempt yard and empty driveway diminish your excitement there's something else you want to try. Saying a prayer to the Goddess, the ivy quickens and blooms: Its stalks bulge obscenely with life as thorns grow and thicken, piercing the hewn stone effortlessly. Placing a hand on the wall, you allow a branch to crawl up your arm's length and grunt when you feel the vine tightening its hold before detaching itself from the tangle of plant-tentacles. Turning to inspect the corrupt parasite's purple flowers and the small, white tendrils at their centre grasping at the air, you muse that even today these tamed plants remember whom they serve. Leaving the house behind, you continue to prowl through the streets and deeper into the town's heart.

Entering an empty alley, you're greeted by the constant hum of a neon sign hanging above a battered door. Temple Tattoos and Piercings Open/Closed. Standing before the entrance you can see a note stuck to the door, asking for job applicants with a list of requirements and a phone number for those interested. Almost reflexively you try to pad your fur for a phone before remembering the torn clothes you left behind in the glade with the Goddess. Opening hours are also written down and it wasn't long ago since they closed. It isn't your immediate concern, so you file away the number and continue to the park.

Crafted to evoke the same renaissance fair atmosphere as the rest of the town, the labyrinthian hedges and collapsed structures that dominate its eastern half are truly picturesque. Within the scenic routes there's small information placards and a few secluded areas scattered throughout. Sensing no one inside you look further afield and a few things catch your attention: Firstly, a jogger. Their features are hidden by a hooded sweater, but their poor quality earbuds leak with one of last year summer hits. You follow along the lyrics as you watch them enter the otherwise empty hedge maze. Leaving two people. A couple you guess after tasting their pheromones and hearing their hushed voices titter with excitement. They're walking slowly, with the woman leaning protectively against her hubby's shoulder.

Ahead, the Basilica stands imposingly and its intimidating spires ensure the building towers above everything else in the town. Behind the massive, mosaic glass windows, there's an unintrusive and soft light cast onto the street and you can imagine the relief felt by pilgrims and weary travellers when they entered the inviting sanctuary.

With nearby humans, it's becoming increasingly difficult to maintain control over your instincts and your thoughts stray from converting Alexis to those in the park. Both your homes aren't far away and you could go there quickly. Still, you feel wary about possibly squandering the opportunities here. Images of you hunting prey together, however, offer an enticing counterbalance to your concerns.

Both the town and Saint along with his order are fictional creations, so writers are welcome to play around with them as they please.