Elara drove too fast. The roads were empty, and she tore through the quiet streets until she reached the neighborhood where the inn sat. It was the same broken-down area she had seen last time.
Signs with separated consonants and vowels, low and shabby buildings that might as well have melted into the ground, narrow alleys, and, except for a single convenience store, no lights were on late at night. Even the sparsely placed streetlights were dim, failing to fulfill their role properly.
She walked into the convenience store to buy a fresh pack of cigarettes. As she stood at the counter, her eyes drifted to the drink refrigerator. One bottle caught her eye. She reached in and pulled it out. It was a sickeningly sweet, dark-colored drink—the kind of thing Elara would never touch. She didn't even know it existed until several months ago.
