#potential horror

Maybe the world didn’t need to know.  Perhaps no one truly needed to be aware of what still walked amongst them.  And what knew.

Years had passed.  Nearly a generation; children born in the dark grew up in the sun and had begun having children of their own.  Those who’d lived through the darkness were fewer, perhaps, but they remained to pass their stories on.  Their blood.  Their hope.

And at first, little seemed out of place.  Life was returning, but with it also death.  No one particularly noticed one morning when dawn claimed a couple of drunks out in the desert north of Hammerhead.  They’d caused their own end, perhaps.

Someone hunting just outside of Malmalam may have simply tripped and fallen down a steep incline as dawn’s first light shone, tragedy enough that not even wild beasts would approach the corpse.

The bartender at Galdin Quay, though.  Dropping dead at the start of his shift well into his third week, tray of glasses going down with him, all reflecting the beauty of dawn’s light and the shadow of the prison island off in the distance.