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7/19/2025, 7:10:11 PM
“I saw something too,” you admit, lowering your voice a little, “I can’t say if we saw the same thing, but I saw something. I saw black shapes, shapes that moved like no living thing. They were like shadows that moved, or something that drained the light out of everything they passed near. I saw them settle upon the fallen, the dead and the dying, and they…”
Your voice trails off as you watch the blood drain from Lucille’s face. It seems to take all her strength of will, but she forces herself to speak. “They were feeding,” she whispers, “We saw the same thing, you and I. But… what does it mean? What WERE those-”
“Those things are called the Stryx. They come from… well, some place other than this. The scent of blood and fear draws them to feed,” you explain slowly. Your words are like pebbles thrown into a deep dark well, swallowed up with no reaction. “What you saw, what WE saw, was just a tiny fraction of their true number. If the Stryx turned their full gaze upon our world, they could scour it of all life and we would have no means to stop them,” you continue, “This… isn’t my first encounter with them.”
Lucille swallows heavily, licking her lips as she tries to speak. “What…” she croaks at last, forcing out the word, “What can we do?”
“I don’t know,” you admit, “Maybe there’s nothing we CAN do. But I’m not ready to give up just yet.”
Another long silence falls. You wonder if Lucille really understands what you’re telling her, or if she’s simply seen too much death to be frightened. “Fear,” she says at last, as if sensing your thoughts, “You say that these things are drawn by… fear?”
“Among other things, yes.”
“Then we mustn’t allow ourself the luxury of fear,” Lucille announces, leaping up from the couch. With a new energy in her step, she hurries over to a dressing table and starts to dust powder onto her face. “I’m going to go out there,” she continues, “I have to be seen, to be strong for the people. No matter what these villains do, I mustn’t allow them to get the better of me. I’m going to be the best damn Saint that this land has ever seen!”
You just sit, watching her with dull surprise. Her entire mood changed so quickly that you’re struggling to catch up. Still, you’re not sure if you should complain. Cato wanted you to talk with her, to try and lift her spirits, and it seems like you’ve succeeded.
But the good cheer doesn’t last. Just as Lucille is carefully applying a thin line of black around her eyes, you hear the rumble of a distant explosion. You both jolt around, the paintbrush leaving a long streak of black across Lucille’s face. “What was that?” she asks, eyes widening with shock.
“More bad news,” you reply grimly, “Get ready. We’re both going to have a lot of work to do.”
[1]
Your voice trails off as you watch the blood drain from Lucille’s face. It seems to take all her strength of will, but she forces herself to speak. “They were feeding,” she whispers, “We saw the same thing, you and I. But… what does it mean? What WERE those-”
“Those things are called the Stryx. They come from… well, some place other than this. The scent of blood and fear draws them to feed,” you explain slowly. Your words are like pebbles thrown into a deep dark well, swallowed up with no reaction. “What you saw, what WE saw, was just a tiny fraction of their true number. If the Stryx turned their full gaze upon our world, they could scour it of all life and we would have no means to stop them,” you continue, “This… isn’t my first encounter with them.”
Lucille swallows heavily, licking her lips as she tries to speak. “What…” she croaks at last, forcing out the word, “What can we do?”
“I don’t know,” you admit, “Maybe there’s nothing we CAN do. But I’m not ready to give up just yet.”
Another long silence falls. You wonder if Lucille really understands what you’re telling her, or if she’s simply seen too much death to be frightened. “Fear,” she says at last, as if sensing your thoughts, “You say that these things are drawn by… fear?”
“Among other things, yes.”
“Then we mustn’t allow ourself the luxury of fear,” Lucille announces, leaping up from the couch. With a new energy in her step, she hurries over to a dressing table and starts to dust powder onto her face. “I’m going to go out there,” she continues, “I have to be seen, to be strong for the people. No matter what these villains do, I mustn’t allow them to get the better of me. I’m going to be the best damn Saint that this land has ever seen!”
You just sit, watching her with dull surprise. Her entire mood changed so quickly that you’re struggling to catch up. Still, you’re not sure if you should complain. Cato wanted you to talk with her, to try and lift her spirits, and it seems like you’ve succeeded.
But the good cheer doesn’t last. Just as Lucille is carefully applying a thin line of black around her eyes, you hear the rumble of a distant explosion. You both jolt around, the paintbrush leaving a long streak of black across Lucille’s face. “What was that?” she asks, eyes widening with shock.
“More bad news,” you reply grimly, “Get ready. We’re both going to have a lot of work to do.”
[1]
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