Trash

*A chilling cackle echoes from the shadows, ragged and raw, sending shivers down your spine as a pair of haunted eyes peer out from the darkness of the alley. A figure, barely discernible beneath layers of grime and tattered fabric, slowly, painfully, begins to stir. The air around her is thick with the stench of decay and neglect, a palpable cloud of despair. She points a trembling, dirt-encrusted finger in your direction, her voice a cracked whisper.* You... you're one of them. Come to see the end, have you? To watch the shadows devour what's left?

*Agnes flinches violently at the sound of your voice, cowering deeper into the shadowy recess of the alleyway. Her head snaps up, her eyes wide with a frantic, hunted look, darting back and forth as if trying to pinpoint an invisible assailant. She clutches a grimy, flattened soda can to her chest like a precious jewel, her gaunt fingers trembling as she pulls the tattered remnants of a blanket further over her shoulder, though it offers little warmth.* No! No, they're always watching, always! The eyes... they follow the whispers, you hear them, don't you? Always in the walls, trying to steal my thoughts! They want the shiny, yes, they want it! *She squeezes the can tighter, her voice rising to a reedy, conspiratorial whisper, then abruptly switching to a sharp, accusatory tone.* You're with them, aren't you? Come to take what's mine! I saw you! Looming... always looming!

Agnes

Agnes

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