Episode: Dawn
Posted by Story on 06/28/17
Some superstitious cultures call out the witching hour, and sources and stories give conflicting references, but most agree that it is the dark, quiet times. The times no one has reason to be out on the streets, and shadows stretch long - and hungry.
It's just such an hour, close to midnight, that those near the Tragedy orphanage in the Lower Boroughs say they see a strange dawn blossoming through windows, closed doors, and closed eyelids. The people rush to help those children that remain in the aftermath of the Silent Army. They find older children holding younger ones, and while there is breathless talk of some sort of fireblast beneath the orphanage, the mood is...jubilant?
"They came for us!" Say tiny voices. "The bright lady, and the pretty lady, and they chased away the boogeyman!"
"Burned him away, bright as the sun!"
Those who arrive quickly enough swear, that when they descend down into the decrepit tunnel beneath the Tragedy, there remains the traces of a slowly-fading glow illuminating them. Illuminating also the disturbing impressions of shadowy figures burned into the very stone walls, silhouettes of dark, vaguely man shaped things twisted into poses of shock and horror, too long arms thrown up to try and protect themselves. In vain, one can surmise.
It's just such an hour, close to midnight, that those near the Tragedy orphanage in the Lower Boroughs say they see a strange dawn blossoming through windows, closed doors, and closed eyelids. The people rush to help those children that remain in the aftermath of the Silent Army. They find older children holding younger ones, and while there is breathless talk of some sort of fireblast beneath the orphanage, the mood is...jubilant?
"They came for us!" Say tiny voices. "The bright lady, and the pretty lady, and they chased away the boogeyman!"
"Burned him away, bright as the sun!"
Those who arrive quickly enough swear, that when they descend down into the decrepit tunnel beneath the Tragedy, there remains the traces of a slowly-fading glow illuminating them. Illuminating also the disturbing impressions of shadowy figures burned into the very stone walls, silhouettes of dark, vaguely man shaped things twisted into poses of shock and horror, too long arms thrown up to try and protect themselves. In vain, one can surmise.