shadow hands ☪ imogen + urania
It is the terrible truth of the world that monsters exist. Across the span of the world, woven throughout centuries and vastly differing cultures and separated geographical locations, are images and myths of beasts with fang fur and claws, bloodlust and death draped over their shoulder in a black cloack. They are creatures that parents warn their children about to prevent them from wandering at night or visiting the sharp-edged woods where they might cut themselves open and bleed out. But the more terrifying truth is that these legends and nightmares and myths often stand on two legs, swing two equally lengthy arms, and carry the facsimile of a rounded, humanoid face on their shoulders -- only with the addition of pointed teeth or a ghastly pallor.
The most horrible truth of all is that man has always been the monsters; it is why we base our frightening stories around ourselves. It is also way said monsters are everywhere. Including Albion.
Imogen had been walking alone in the dark, as all fairytales tell little girls not to do. The streets were all but empty, save the all-seeing gaze of the one-eyed moon and its celestial disciples that dotted the night sky. She had heard a woman take up a path behind her some minutes ago (she could tell it was a woman by the distinctive clacking of her shoes), and with Imogen’s lackadaisical pace, she was not far behind her. This hadn’t concerned Imogen in the least; she hadn’t so much as looked behind her to gouge who it was in her shadow. As it was, her gaze was turned upwards, smiling loosely at the glittering of stars.
As it would turn out, her eyes should have been fixed forward to find the dangers.
There was many of them at once, emerging from the alleyway to her left like an ill-meant congregation of blackness. In the dark of the night, they seemed to be made only of shadow, but there were parts of them that gleamed as they stepped forward: knives and teeth.
“Well ‘old up now, youse pretty ladies.”
“’Ave you not been told its dangerous for girls to walk in the dark, all by themselves?”
“Let us escort you little doves.”
The last one laughed, and it was a wicked sounding thing. Imogen’s heart had taken to beating against her rib cage in the hope that it might escape this terror. She found herself peddling backwards on shaky feet that would not move fast enough.
“I - I do not carry anything valuable on me, I swear, Sirs, I - I -” one reached out to grab her arm, and clamped onto her wrist, causing her to screech and pull back, stumbling into the body of the woman that had been walking behind her. What spurred Imogen to then reach for the elbow of said person, she did not know, but it seemed to her that sharing their mass would be safer than continuing alone.
