It was a cloudy day. Melancholic grey washed over the land, the grass rolling in quick waves as the salted breeze rushed along the isles of La Noscea. Gently clamoring chimes of metal and wood sang along with the soft howl of wind, whipping around the stone masonry of the nearby orphanage. Children ran about, laughing along with their games as they combined work with play — gathering their toys and belongings to bring inside, as the Caretakers had instructed. A storm was coming, they warned, as the grey clouds continued to churn along the steadily darkening skies.
The first drops of rain fell upon the cheeks of these children — these orphans, in their isolated sanctuary. A mixture of all races, brought together from troubled pasts, to live in peace. It was a welcome, soothing coolness after a long day of play — many of the children continuing to run about while the patter was light. And then, just as quickly as it had started, did it abruptly stop.
In fact, everything stopped.
The chimes and grass froze mid-sway. The rushing breeze turned to deathly stilled air. The clouds, while continuing to roll and churn their own forms, locked in place within the skies. And despite their frozen positions, the scenery continued to grow darker. Colder. Small specks of white slowly began to flutter down from the skies, tickling their skin with a cold kiss of melting snow.
The Caretakers moved about in confusion. Snow? While the warmth of summer had yet to full fade? What was this? But as their puzzled gazes lowered back down, an even larger puzzle presented itself. The orphans were frozen, glazed-over eyes locked upon the clouds. Every single one of them.
Worry began to mix with panic as the Caretakers moved about, gripping their small shoulders to give them a light shake. Calling their names to ask what was wrong. Nothing. Nothing until the sound of childish snickering cut through the stilled air. They looked around, asking each other where it was? Who it was? The patter of feet crunching over the grass soon joined in. Another giggle–from the east, this time.
They searched the direction it had come from, but bore no fruit for their efforts. Upon turning back around, however, a new sight welcomed them. Bodies littered the ground — limp orphans, sprawled out and unconscious as blood trickled from their noses and ears. Only five remained standing, still staring up to the skies. Their eyes were wide open, so wide in fact that it almost seemed their tear ducts would begin to split open. Their pupils and irises quickly drowning within a sea of milky white. Their mouths hanging open, as if screaming for their lives — though only silence escaped. Their bodies began to thrash and convulse in place, while pure veins of pure darkness started to spread and branch out along their skin.
And then, once again — it stopped.
They slouched over, arms and heads dangling limply for a few moments before they managed to straighten their backs. Five pairs of wide, unblinking pools of glowing white stared at the horrified Caretakers. Their lips slowly curled and parted into wide grins, as the corners of their lips began to rip and tear, revealing the muscle beneath. Their teeth were clenched so tightly that they could hear the bones popping and cracking from where they stood, frozen with fear. Black ichor spilled from the gaps of their teeth, the corners of their eyes, and along their jaws as it spilled from their ears.
The air filled with awful screams that day, of both terror and agony — and were slowly degraded into the dull half-conscious groans of slow, inhumane deaths. Accompanied by the pop of dislocating joints. The squelch of ripping flesh and viscera. The dripping of blood, violently spattered everywhere. And the soft, rapid gasps of final breaths, like fish out of water.
The unconscious children remained unharmed, although not spared from the mess of their Caretakers, who were now strewn about their small home. Those five children were nowhere to be found. The five Caretakers who tended to their orphans, were now reduced to decorative chunks and stains. And upon the orphanage’s walls, written in their blood and entrails, were five simple words.
T͕̬͎h̼̹̫̗̻͕̫͛ͦͦę̖̏͐ͫ͌ͥ̂̋y̢͍͙̫̾ͮ̾ ͕̹̰͚̿͡W̵̮̘͉̞ͥͣ͒̐͂i̝̹̖͇̮̞l̞͇̟͎̙̥͊ͭ̐ͩl̢̺͔͓̻̹̖͂̇ͤͅ ̩A̴͂̀̔l̴͓̼̩̪̼͓͍ͩͫ̂͋ͯ͊͊l̟̮̬̦̳̾͒͒ͭ̐͌͝ ̛͚̠͍̣͈̦̊B͖̖̼̯̼̿eͯ͒ͪͣ̌ͬ҉̞͇̺̺̯̰͔ ̶̩̿ͬO̡̱̦̰̗̘̺ͮ̾͊̓u̩̱͓̙̩͓͑́̾̿̍r̔͆́̈́s̜̲̭̯̬̄̋ͦͧͪ̊
,
From this point forward, an alarming increase in missing children reports will be seen not only in Eorzea, but all throughout Hydaelyn — be it from orphanages, schools, tribes, or directly from their homes. Some will go quietly. Some will leave behind scenes of carnage, typically with a message from the Children left behind in the mess.
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