'In this city, the Nights have Eyes. They watch all of us from the darkness, even in those moments where yer think yer alone. They're there. Watchin'. Waitin'. Petchin' creepy if you ask me.'
'Nah, ain't nothin' but tales to keep kids from misbehavin'. Ain't nothin' but shadows and anyone who says differently is a bloody idiot.'
''ave you seen that old woman with the birds down by the Riverside? Bit shifty if you ask me. She don't look like nothin' threatening, like. But it's a bit odd. What's an old woman got so many birds for?'
'If yer ever want a taste of Pulp, go to the old sparrow surrounded by crows. Whisper a message to her and you'll get your hit in a coupla days time.'
'Why don't I drink anymore? Last time I was blind drunk I went t'Riverside. Complained to some old woman about how my wife always nagged at me. Two bells later, m'wife's throat was slit and her mouth gagged. Whoever done it took m'coin as well. Weird, that. Soberin' experience to say the least.'
♔♔♔
'Nah, ain't nothin' but tales to keep kids from misbehavin'. Ain't nothin' but shadows and anyone who says differently is a bloody idiot.'
''ave you seen that old woman with the birds down by the Riverside? Bit shifty if you ask me. She don't look like nothin' threatening, like. But it's a bit odd. What's an old woman got so many birds for?'
'If yer ever want a taste of Pulp, go to the old sparrow surrounded by crows. Whisper a message to her and you'll get your hit in a coupla days time.'
'Why don't I drink anymore? Last time I was blind drunk I went t'Riverside. Complained to some old woman about how my wife always nagged at me. Two bells later, m'wife's throat was slit and her mouth gagged. Whoever done it took m'coin as well. Weird, that. Soberin' experience to say the least.'
♔♔♔
Eyes that watch at Night. Tales to tell children. Drugs, old women, and birds. Such were the stories that surrounded the Night Eyes. Not all the tales made sense, but nobody really questioned it. There was an unspoken rule throughout Sunberth that if you badmouthed the Night Eyes, they would hear it, even if you said the words to yourself as quiet as a prayer at night.
Most feared the shadows, perturbed over what they may reveal. Who stood in the darkness? Who was listening? And most importantly - why? It was the unknown of it all that scared most, and those that claimed they were not intimidated were either liars or dead men walking. For something so secretive and invisible, the influence of the Night Eyes was felt everywhere throughout Sunberth. Sometimes it manifested in the clientele of establishments like the Muted Maiden or Simpering Seacow, or in the neat killing of a person who had overstepped their mark.
Most commonly, though, the single face of the Night Eyes was a plain-looking, innocent-seeming old woman who wandered about the cobbled square that formed the heart of the Riverside. Sometimes she sung songs, quietly and huskily to herself. On other occasions she would stoop down and converse with the silken black birds she kept in cages. They would caw caw caw! back to her, and she would either laugh at their jokes or scold them for their cheek.
Her appearance was too easily overlooked; tussled hair, missing teeth, brown clothes usually flecked with stains. She was by and large the pinnacle of the old in Sunberth: frail, but still somehow still quite intimidating.
Constantly the old woman gripped onto a curious object: a quill. Though the feather had long been battered and torn, she clung onto this prized possession as if it were made out of gold. Those that walked through the square during their daily business almost always seemed to be unaware of her existence. She was far too easy to miss, to ignore. In that sense, she was no different to the coveted Night Eyes: Barely seen, barely heard, but always, always there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Most feared the shadows, perturbed over what they may reveal. Who stood in the darkness? Who was listening? And most importantly - why? It was the unknown of it all that scared most, and those that claimed they were not intimidated were either liars or dead men walking. For something so secretive and invisible, the influence of the Night Eyes was felt everywhere throughout Sunberth. Sometimes it manifested in the clientele of establishments like the Muted Maiden or Simpering Seacow, or in the neat killing of a person who had overstepped their mark.
Most commonly, though, the single face of the Night Eyes was a plain-looking, innocent-seeming old woman who wandered about the cobbled square that formed the heart of the Riverside. Sometimes she sung songs, quietly and huskily to herself. On other occasions she would stoop down and converse with the silken black birds she kept in cages. They would caw caw caw! back to her, and she would either laugh at their jokes or scold them for their cheek.
Her appearance was too easily overlooked; tussled hair, missing teeth, brown clothes usually flecked with stains. She was by and large the pinnacle of the old in Sunberth: frail, but still somehow still quite intimidating.
Constantly the old woman gripped onto a curious object: a quill. Though the feather had long been battered and torn, she clung onto this prized possession as if it were made out of gold. Those that walked through the square during their daily business almost always seemed to be unaware of her existence. She was far too easy to miss, to ignore. In that sense, she was no different to the coveted Night Eyes: Barely seen, barely heard, but always, always there.
Watching.
Waiting.