The Heart

Physical Read

A former textile factory on the Main, its facade indistinguishable from the delis and garment shops pressing in on either side. The entrance is a small red leather door that seems to pulse. The interior is not what the facade promises.
Past the front desk, the building opens into a labyrinth of corridors and small rooms. Five chambers arranged in a rough pentagon, all connected to a central amphitheater by winding passages. Walls, couches, and beds covered with velvet, rubber, and leather. Soft lighting in deep-red hues, sweet-smelling incense. The deepest recess holds the Inner Sanctum — a corridor leading to a large metallic door, behind which lies a seven-pointed star-shaped room with walls made from human flesh and infant bodies merged through Vicissitude. A chandelier bathes it in red light. Seven shrines to the Deadly Sins occupy the seven corners, adorned with living icons. A central dais holds blood that defies gravity, sustaining the living walls.
The upper floors are the Widows’ private quarters. No clients go there. The stairs are watched by women who move like they’ve been doing this for centuries, because some of them have.

Where Sable connects with the Widows coven. The location that pulls her toward something she wants and something that will consume her.
A feeding ground with strings attached. The blood flows freely, but every sip deepens entanglement.
Social nexus for Montreal’s Kindred underworld. The Heart trades in pleasure, secrets, and leverage in equal measure.

The Rose. Completely. The Heart is her creation, her feeding ground, her web.
The Widows coven operates the establishment. Mortal sex workers provide the cover and the clientele. The coven provides protection, and the mortals are treated better here than anywhere else on the Main. That’s the trap — it works.
Sable’s access is a gift from The Rose, and gifts from The Rose accrue interest.