We are those without Souls

See our city, full of beauty.
See our faces, full of charm.
Walk the streets, be greeted warmly.
Feel that we will do no harm.

Visit us, and see us smiling.
Eat our food, and be our guest.
After dinner, please do linger.
It can wait, both home and quest.

When you fade, it will be smiling.
In the end you feel no pain.
We are Soulless, and you lingered.
You will never leave again.

It is an island. An island of exquisite beauty, the populated area surrounded by very few yet steep mountains and very many reeves in the waters. The White City lays there, sparkling in the water that reflects the sun onto clean walls, luring in those who have not ventured past before. For curiosity oft gets the best of you when you see the beauty there. Should you choose to enter their dock you will be guided through the dangerous waters from the shore. A beam of light from a lighthouse situated at the end of a pier will dictate the path your ship must take, and you must follow.

The dock is all but empty of ships, the ones there named and found in all seas. Have you any experience on the seas, the first warning bell shall be rung, for many of the names are those of ships disappeared recently, or long ago. Those names that are not, are of those that had no one waiting at home. They lay docked now, slowly giving in to decay as they are not in use any longer.

Their people are beautiful. Angels. Sparkling green eyes and vibrant red hair, most of them. Of course the occasional brunette, blonde and blackhaired beauty will be encountered, but most of them are redheads. Even the males. And many of them are winged. White, beautiful wings, folded as they walk the cobbled streets, but holding the potential for actual flight.

Some of the younger ones are laughing as they bathe in the ocean, but as they see you they grow silent. Dark eyes focus on you as you pass since you are strangers, and they know. They know that you shouldn't have come here had you wished to ever return home. If you take a closer look at some of the children you might notice their scaled fish-tails, but it is likely that you will not look closer. They are staring, and you are busy pretending that they are not. That, and women have started to gather up on your walk, wanting to hear your stories and give you praise.

Wine and food will flow and women or men will flock around you depending on your gender and preferences. They will laugh at your jokes, praise your heroic deeds and feel with you should you tell tales of sorrow. Were you injured upon your arrival you will be healed by now, though the intoxication most likely will keep you from wondering how this came to be. Potent wine is brought to you by silent slaves, free to walk about and drink, though clearly not a part of the people belonging in the city.

They are drinking too, the beautiful people. But their wine is different, white like milk and giving off a soft glow. It is beautiful and tasty looking, though should you ask for a sip they will laugh and tell you that it is not made for human stomachs. Not good for the soul, some might even reveal, and they will laugh as if they just told a private joke. Their laughs are beautiful, clear like bells, and you will smile foolishly even though you are not likely to understand.

The night will be the end of your memories. Soon you will be another silent slave, serving wine.