Sin City and The Blood Magnolia

Part I
The City Beneath the Glass Dome

October 31, 1929 – All Hallow’s Eve at Le Cœur Noir

The ivories were moaning in ecstasy as Mirelle continued to perform her set, the handsome chocolate man at the piano was under her spell, as the rest of the patrons in the joint were lost in a trance. Outside on the cobblestone streets, the jazz demons began to plot their next moves.

“Ophelia has died, Mirelle sings,” said one of the demons with a devilish grin.

“I cannot wait to see how we can use her,” said another demon.

A third demon responded, “The Hexacrutines and their Matriarch have been woken. Feel the ground pulsate—it vibrates with their evil souls! Fellas, the city is ours, no one can stop us! Not even the Mother.”

As the demons made their way to the jazz joint, the door of Le Cœur Noir did not open for them.

They tried once more to enter, only to be violently spat out by a force they could not see but feel.

“Holy water!! My skin is burning!” said one of the demons, trying to stop his body from bursting into flames.

The second demon hissed.

Frankie had showered the doors of the jazz joint with holy water, red crushed rose petals, and cloves, mixing his Italian creed with southern mysticism. He did this to protect her, to deter evil spirits and demons. He knew the risk that such insolence posed for him, and he was willing to do what it took, even if it meant that his life was at stake for her.

While lost in her own vanity, she noticed an off vibe; to her surprise, she could see the demons outside. Normally Ophelia would be terrified of such things, but Mirelle was completely different. She began to pout her lips and push her breasts with her arms to make herself seem bustier than she was. Mirelle was all about the glitz, the glamour, and the attention.

Demon attention was for her the ultimate prize; if she could make a demon fall in love with her, she could bend Frankie to her every whim, or so she thought.

Madam LaLaurie had given Mirelle the power to seduce anyone through song, just like the sirens that Homer had to face on his journey back home after the Trojan War. The only problem was that Ophelia began to have a split personality issue. She became dissociative after the spell and would get lost in her own madness.

Her mind was split into two hemispheres: one occupied by Ophelia and the other by Mirelle. Her Lacanian mirror was a warning of identity erosion, false desire drenched in an Electra complex.

While on stage as Mirelle was singing, Ophelia was lost in thought, thinking of the legend of the naked ghost of Julie, the mistress of Octoroon House—or better known as 734 Royal Street—a woman who loved so much that she died waiting in the cold for her lover to retrieve her. That’s how much Ophelia could love—she could love so much that she would give her life for love.

She wanted to have someone do that for her, even though the naked ghost of the Octoroon was in a situationship with a French gentleman. The legend tells the tale of a man who loved and died of sadness after jokingly suggesting to the woman he had a liaison with to prove her love if she wished to marry him, as Octoroons were black Creoles who were forbidden from marrying white Frenchmen. A sad story, but in Ophelia’s eyes, a torrid romance.

As she continued to be lost in the trance of her own thoughts, Carollo was observing her.

Part 2
LaLaurie’s Bargain Chip

Delphine knew that something was brewing under the cobblestone in the Beauregard-Keyes House, as she could feel the cobblestone shaking by the evil spirits and forces that were consorting with the devil.

On her way to the Shadowed Man’s antique shop of voodoo curiosities, she noticed demons around the Quarter.

“Something’s brewing. I just made a deal and created a powerful weapon in Mirelle; she will become handy.”

As she reached the Shadowed Man’s store called Papa Legba’s Voodoo, she knocked on the door, which opened by itself, letting a cloud of reefer, patchouli, and vanilla escape.

“LaLaurie, I know why you are here,” said Papa Legba in a deep voice as the top of his lip smiled, lifting his mustache in a grin.

Grabbing a box full of white bones, a cigar, and salt, he led Delphine to the back.

“Sit, don’t ask anything until you see.”

Papa Legba proceeded to throw the white bones and salt on the floor, while at the same time lighting up the cigar to let the ashes fall.

“The Council of the Unholy Seven is not happy with you; they are impatient and tired of you and your witchcraft.”

“Oh, Shadowed Man, how can I secure my place amongst them?”

“You must prove your worth and obey the Hexacrutines. Remember, every deal has a price… I can help you, but you have to let me live in your mansion.”

“I do have something to offer to them; she is a mirror of mortal desire, a tribute to the Lord of Crown and Sin.”

“Who are you speaking of?” said the Shadowed Man.

“Her—the siren who seduces humanity with her song and bends men to their knees.”

“That’s a blood offering. Carollo and the Hexacrutines might throw you a bone and let you sit at the table with them.”

“Let’s send them a message encoded with a black magnolia and drops of blood and jasmine.”

Papa Legba grabbed a mirror and smashed it on the floor next to the bones. Grabbing a shard, he cut LaLaurie’s palm; the blood droplets fell on the floor, and with his cigar he ashed it.

“Repeat after me: I offer you this gift, out of devotion and blood, for the Blood Magnolia will reign the Quarter under your wing.”

LaLaurie repeated the words as she removed her pin and threw it next to the broken glass.

Papa Legba grabbed a bloomed black magnolia and a few petals of jasmine, tossing them next to the broken shards of glass. The broken mirror changed colors.

“We have received your offering, and we accept. Welcome to the Council of the Unholy Seven.”

Part 3
The Unholy Seven

Carollo’s gifts for La Signora Beauregard became more extravagant and pricey. Besides showering her with gifts, he also began to court her as he needed the old widow to keep her trap shut and not intervene in his plans.

He was an opportunistic son of a gun, that was his nature; and now he was about to expand his empire beyond the French Quarter. The Hexacrutines and their Matriarch were his useful servants; they didn’t know that yet, as they were under the impression that Carollo’s power was just mortal and bureaucratic.

But something darker, ancient, and cunning was hiding under the façade of a siciliano who was only un uomo nel negozio.

He made his way down to the basement after dropping his weekly gifts for La Signora Beauregard.

When he opened the door, a foul smell almost made him vomit, as Lurida, the Matriarch witch, greeted him in a flirtatious way.

“Signore Carollo, for a moment I thought you had abandoned me… I mean abandoned us,” as Grubelle Noir made a face and rolled her eyes in disgust.

“Signoras… never, as we have work to do.

We have an offering from Delphine; she sent a message that a siren like the ones in Homer’s Odyssey roams the Quarter freely, seducing demons and men.”

“Ophelia?” asked Carollo.

“No, her name is now Mirelle, as Ophelia is no more.”

Grottina Fangula, eager for male gaze, jumped off her chair. “Signore Carollo, we have a gift for you!” She offered Carollo a brown wooden box.

Carollo raised his eyebrow as he reached out for the wooden box, pulling out a gold laurel and magnolia leaves crown reminiscent of Roman and Greek empires, that were only given to men who were gallant and valiant as a symbol of honor, victory, and power.

“Gee, ladies, grazie mille. The crown of the men of power and valor!”

Upstairs, there was a loud knock on the entrance door.

“Master, it’s her; she is coming to us, and she brought us a gift wrapped in feathers, lace, and sequins, with painted rouged lips and eyes as dark as ravens,” said all four witches between crackles and hisses.

La Signora Beauregard opened the door to see LaLaurie on her doorstep; she nearly fainted.

“Madam, I am here for Mr. Silvestro Carollo, is he in?”

Before she could answer, Carollo was right next to her.

“You are late,” barked Carollo.

“I know we are, but I bring you an offering for your kingdom.”

Ophelia walked in, more beautiful and sexy than ever.

“Hello, Ophelia.”

“That is not my name anymore, honey, call me Mirelle,” responded Ophelia, giving her hand to Carollo to kiss.

“Alright, Mirelle it is.”

They walked down to the basement as the four witches were impatient to begin the orchestra of sin.

Part 4
The Offering of the Blood Magnolia

Carollo was quite amused at Ophelia’s transformation, as he had recognized in her a useful fool that would be the vessel he needed to infiltrate the other mafiosi; she would be his stool pigeon, the female version of a wiseguy that was well connected.

He might even make Ophelia his moll, as the place of goomar was already taken by a special gal that he used as his networking connect with Costello.

Carollo had an ambitious plan. First, he would use Ophelia to lure Al Capone, as he knew that the bastard was trying to recruit Frankie as his muscle, and that was something that Carollo would not permit.

“Over my dead body that stronzo will take my most important chess piece! I got something for his ass,” thought Carollo to himself.

“Well, Signore Silvestro, this is my best creation; she ain’t no slave, but she is a weapon, a vessel to get what you want,” said Delphine while holding Ophelia’s hand so she would turn to give Carollo a full look.

“My, my, cara mia, sei bellissima! Finger lickin’ good—so what you want, kid?”

Ophelia looked at Carollo, narrowing her eyes, as she drew a cigarette from her purse, taking it to her lips.

“Got a light?” she asked, while placing her other hand on her right breast as if to draw his eyes to that area. Ophelia loved making men nervous; her currency was male gaze, and her prize was their seal of approval of how beautiful she was.

Lurida, the Matriarch from the four witches, scanned her up and down.

“Nothing that a good ole’ potion cannot fix; she ain’t nothing special,” hissed Smelegra Grossa.

“Yeah, she ain’t nothing special, we don’t need her,” said Grottina Fangula with her saw-like teeth showing as she spewed her venom.

“SILENCE! You insolent fools! This is a gift for Signore Carollo, and we cannot refuse gifts that are this important,” barked Lurida.

“But she is an abomination, not a miracle! She pretends to be who she is not. Besides, you got me. I am all the vixen that this council needs,” said Grubelle Noira.

This enraged Smelegra Grossa. “You really think you’re special, aye? You young fool! It is me who is the vixen of the council.”

“Ladies, ladies, let’s not fight. We all have our place in the council.”

“You are right, Mrs. LaLaurie; we have a bureaucratic democracy—after all, this is the proof we needed that can raise the dead and waken the demons.”

And with that, Lurida sealed the deal. And Mirelle was now a weapon of the Unholy Seven.

Part 5
The Thespian Queen Earns Her Crown

As the witches, aided by Delphine, prepared a white star pentagram on the floor, along with red, purple, and black candles, chicory root, ashes, ferns, chicken feathers, and stones, Carollo approached Mirelle, handing her a box.

“Kid, go change yourself in this gown and crown—”

When Mirelle pulled the ribbon from the white box Carollo had given her, the most beautiful purple and gold silk and sequin dress fit for a Roman-Greek goddess was inside the box, along with a black and gold magnolia crown and gold gloves.

“You will be sore for sore, aight—come on, kid, put it on.”

As Mirelle went upstairs to get changed, Carollo’s goons brought in five different mirrors, which were placed on each peak of the five-star pentagram.

The four witches sprinkled the mirrors with sugar and ash as they waited for Mirelle to come down.

Once Mirelle was back downstairs and inside the five-star white pentagram, Delphine and the four witches began to hum and dance as if they were possessed by the afternoon demons of the Bayou.

The five mirrors synchronized along with the dancing, the humming, and the chanting. Five different countries appeared in the mirrors where the Unholy Council is alive:

Italy, the motherland; Argentina, the rebel empire; Sicily, the organized crime den; England, the patriot; and Australia, the down-under bootleg empire of giggle water.

“Let our reign begin; we ask the five cities to look after us. We are the Unholy Council.”

The basement began to shake violently; the candles burned brighter as shadows came out from the pentagram.

“Raise the Blood Magnolia; wear the Black Magnolia crown!”

Mirelle raised her hands to place the crown on her head.

The shadows embraced her, lifting her off the floor, consuming her with their darkness. The shiny black glow of her hair became dusty with ash. Her lips became redder, and her skin lost its olive opulence, leaving a pasty milk complexion.

The Thespian Queen has been crowned.

The Red Violin Sonata

Meanwhile, a few blocks from the Beauregard-Keyes House on 828 Toulouse Street, inside the Olivier House Hotel, the windows cracked open as Mylene’s diary opened itself, letting smoke and gold dust escape into the air. From the fog, a black raven emerged, flipping its wings towards Mylene.

“What is it, child?” As the raven anxiously cawed, its caws rattled the black swans that were nested outside the windows.

“Ahh, she has been crowned… the world is seeking to balance itself, and it will, after it falls victim to the mirror of Mirelle—the fake prophet, the fake siren.”

Mylene stood up from the gold and brocade chair that was next to the leather-gilded bookcases. She extended her arm and called the raven to her, making her way to the left side of her chambers. She placed the raven on the wooden table.

As the raven became less anxious, it started to softly coo while it observed Mylene getting ready to grind spices using a pestle and mortar. She ground roses, cinnamon, and myrrh into a fragrant paste that she used to anoint the raven’s beak and her neck and wrists.

After anointing herself and the raven, Mylene walked towards the diary. The raven flew to her shoulder.

“Wake up, beloved, it’s time.”

As the diary flipped its pages, Mylene began to recite an incantation.

“Bloom, Passion. Once you were a man devout of desire,
A man who wrote melodies that enchanted women out of their clothes, and stripped them from their souls.
With roses as red as the passion that bled from your notes.”

“Oh crimson violin, show yourself to me.”

The diary flipped its pages again, stopping at a map that depicted a castle far lost in the wilderness on top of a high mountain. A crow flying through the forest as a blinking light came out of the diary, tugging her sleeve to enter the map.

Once she was inside the diary, the crow and the raven flew together, guiding her to the castle as a mirror portal began to ripple.

Behind it, the sound of a violin could be heard. Sonata in E minor poured inside the castle.

“Violin with the soul of a man, come to me—”

As she held the glowing red violin in her hands, she repeated the incantation again. This led her back to the Olivier Hotel.

“Oh dear diary, tell me, where should we go next to fight the demons to restore balance to the world?”

The diary turned into a globe with a world map that rotated until it stopped in South America, lighting up on the country of Argentina.

🕯️ Felt the pull? Let her haunt someone new.
If this chapter moved you, pass it on.
One soul. One shadow. One whisper.
Mylène remembers the ones who speak her name.

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