A cobbled road cracked open the only light that shone upon Derembore. Old wives hid behind their doors, peering through the fractures in their rooves. Gaunt cats vaulted into shattered windows with haste. Contorted mice peered over their shoulders as they scurried through the streets in packs. Aging dogs patrolled the homes for signs of intruders.
The oldest member of the community was Agrine. She sat at her window with white catorac-ridden eyes. She stared into the distance with a blank and complex view of insight. Her voice had not spoken a word since anyone could remember. But, she could remember a time when Derembore had the light. Flowers grew, children laughed, and dogs played. Families had gatherings and found fulfillment in each others company. That was a time before the darkness found them.
Now, they were prisoners in their own town. Stuck inside a place where time was networked by the questions only to be answered at the top of the clock tower. In the center of the town, this brick being stood slanted. The clock hung from the head, slowly crumbling each time the wind whistled through. Its walls were fastened to the old oak which weaved it’s branches through it’s body. The wise elders warned against exploring the tower. They told stories to children of the terrible, unforgettable things that were inside that tower. They told the children how the walls were shadowed by an immortal presence. They said that the darkness led it’s way around the perimeter of the town. But, at the center was where the source was held. Children foolishy tried running into the pit of blackness that restrained the tower in place. Some never came back. Those that did never spoke again.