Sacrosanct contains four distinct neighborhoods, each with their own specific kind of houses and residents. Explore our districts, view lists of our citizens and enjoy our block parties!
What You'll Find Here
Situated above the daily life of the city, Anacosta Heights is a tucked away suburb featuring extravagant neo-gothic inspired mansions. The inhabitants of this neighborhood often show their overwhelming wealth with sports cars lining their long, circular driveways, large pools, and manicured gardens. The homeowners of Anacosta Heights treasure their privacy as seen by the high iron gates to the security personnel present at every entrance.
Dupont Circle is a small suburban neighborhood settled within the serene portion of the southern portion of town. These four-bedroom, single-family homes feature back yards, porches, garages, and far more breathing space then the Village offers. This neighborhood often is more family orientated and even has organized events for children and the neighborhood as a whole.
Settled in the middle of downtown, Hawthorn Village consists of several victorian inspired row houses just off the main street. Due to it's convenience to just about everything, the village can be a tad expensive to live within. However, the residents of this neighborhood often have two to three-story townhouses, often with a one to two-car garage. Many of the houses feature bay windows and/or rooftop terraces with a small fenced-in 'yard'.
River Dale primarily consists of apartments that, despite their age and industrial appearing interior, still hold to the Victorian history that permeates the town. These apartments are often the cheapest option and sport scuffed, older wooden floors, open floor plans, visible beams, and the occasional brick wall.
The redheaded vampire fixes her companion with a grin that was wholly and unapologetically impish, bleeding mischief with the fluidity of spilled ink into every line drawn against the suppleness of her cheeks. "No no... I promise you that nothing has gone downhill. It's just that maternity clothes have invaded my entire wardrobe, but my scrubs are sacred. I refuse to wear maternity scrubs. I don't need a sexy outfit to entice my husband," she offers the assurance with an exaggerated wink in the direction of the dark-haired woman and a playful shimmying of her shoulders. It was not a lie, but perhaps instead was it the greatest of understatements given that all it seemed was required of Isolt in order to seduce her husband was to do little more than saunter into whatever room he might find himself in. The batting of curled lashes, the tender pinch of her teeth against the plump, inviting cushion of her bottom lip was all it took to draw him to her. She wondered oft times if Damon even noticed what outfit clung to the pleasant slopes of her curves.
Isolt's grimace only deepens with the piquing of her companion's interest; only then does the redheaded woman come to fully realize the err of the words she had proffered up so carelessly. "Nothing," she quips desparately though she is under no false impression that the damage, such as it was, had already been done. And it had been done of her own foolish hand. "Harley, don't..." she whispers in an almost admonishing hiss as the dark-haired woman plucks the wretched bovine costume from betwixt her fingers and careens into what is no less than a mad dash for the brightly-lit halo of the cashier's desk. "Harley!" It is for naught, though, and Isolt knows this perhaps as much as her companion does, the devious minx having successfully accomplished the transaction before her heavily-pregnant friend could waddle her way to the counter. Impending motherhood had altered a vast number of things, not least of them Isolt's ability to make it anywhere quickly despite the speed that had been gifted to her by immortality.
"Even though I'm sure it would horrify anyone unlucky enough to witness it, I think I would rather streak than wear that thing. And I swear to god if you try to take a picture of me in it I'll use my pregnant vampire lady-rage to crush your phone with my bare hand," she threatens as the pair make their way to the waiting vehicle, though jest creeps unto her features in the curl of a impish grin.
"Haunted?" she queries, a perfectly-manicured brow pitching in the direction of her dearest friend. "I don't think anything could frighten me as much as that motel we stayed at yesterday. Seriously, it was like half motel, half real-life crime scene renactment." A hearty giggle worked its way from within her then as she nudged her companion playfully. "Besides, did we really visit New Orleans if we don't see a ghost or three?"
The swamp-moistened heat and the sound of spirited jazz music welcome the pair of women into the vibrant and beating heart of the French Quarter, a whole universe contained entirely in so small a portion of the city itself. Everything about it called to her, beckoned with curled finger to the etherreal spirit of her supernatural self, and coaxed to life the excessively carefree portion of her that seemed only possible whenever she found herself in Harley's presence. It was almost as if they were teenagers again, cruising about in one of their parents' "borrowed" automobiles, laughing hysterically and flinging themselves wholly and completely into the opened and welcoming arms of whatever capers lay ahead.