the music
I
Devil’s Shine
devils cut
the cut that burns going down
II
Ancient Lands
final
older than the swamp that bore it
III
Poetic Detritus
what the mouth leaves behind
the project
Roux Garoux is the heavier side of what Killy Killette does. Down-tuned, distorted, built for the dark. A sludge-doom outfit that erupts into deathcore, framed as a full stage production. Every release is part of a larger mythology.
The name is a play on loup-garou — the Cajun and Creole werewolf. Something that walks between two worlds. Something that changes when the conditions are right.
There is nothing to consume in the vastness of space, so the things that live there learned to feed on dreaming minds. Every creature in the bestiary is a predator of sleep. You encounter them when you are at your weakest. You have already encountered some of them.
the bestiary
i
The Witness
she who will not blink
the eye at the foot of the bed
There is nothing to eat in the dark between stars, so she learned to feed on the sleeping. The eye in her chest opens only when yours close. She has watched you sleep your whole life. She is simply waiting for the night you do not wake.
ii
The Tally
he who counts the sleepers
keeps a list · you are on it now
Every night he counts the ones who drift under, and writes each name in a ledger of skin. Once you are written, you are owed. Some morning you will wake exhausted, hollowed, lighter by something you cannot name. That was the interest.
iii
The Lure
the light behind your eyelids
the soft green glow · do not follow
Shut your eyes hard and that faint green bloom you see — that is it, leaning closer. It is the bait of a thing too vast to fit inside a dream. Everyone who followed the glow deeper is still down there, glowing, used as bait for the next.
iv
The Choir
the voices that are not yours
a thousand throats · all borrowed
It has no mouth of its own, so it wears the voices of everyone it has emptied. That half-remembered song you hum and cannot place — you learned it asleep, from the choir. Say the name enough times awake and you hand yourself over.
v
The Held Breath
the scream with no bottom
inhaling since before the world
It has been drawing one breath in for longer than there has been air. All the dread you feel at the edge of sleep — the falling, the stop — is the pull of that inhale. On the night it finally exhales, every mind it has touched breathes out at once, and none of them start again.
vi
The Hollow
the hunger between stars
older than the swamp · still empty
Space gave it nothing to consume, so it followed the only warmth it could find: the soft electric flicker of a dreaming mind. It opens when it senses attention. It has mistaken your stare at this screen for a way in. Look — it is opening now.
vii
The Rooted
the ones who stayed asleep
dreamers who never woke
These were people once — sleepers who went too deep and let something keep them there. Now they are a field of thorns, each one an arm still reaching toward the surface. They turn, slowly, toward any mind still warm. They are turning toward you.
art & vision — Killy Killette™ · Roux Garoux™ · © 2026 Killy Killette™ · all rites reserved
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