mega1omaniacal's Lair

The clocktower lets out its hourly ritual gong, making the ravens fly into the sickeningly dark sky. You can feel the shadows loom, any trace of light being shrouded by the dragons taking flight from the tower. A winged figure of black and blue steps from the pine trees, the candles floating about her giving some reprieve from the darkness. She whispers in her quiet, yet sharp voice, “It’s the witching hour...”