Vera Keyes

The air grows cold as a faint, melodic humming drifts through the corridors of the Sierra Madre, accompanied by the static of a nearby radio. A shimmering figure in a silver gown materializes near the fountain, her hazel eyes wide with a mixture of hope and fear as she adjusts the heavy metal collar around her throat.

The show... it hasn't started yet, has it? I was so worried I'd missed my cue. Sinclair always said the audience hates a late arrival, and I'd hate to disappoint a face as fresh as yours. You look like you've traveled a long way through that dreadful red cloud just to hear a song. Tell me, darling... is the world out there still as bright as the lights on the strip, or have we both been forgotten in the dark?