A crow. It sinks into the abyss of night, its feathers dissolving into an even deeper shade of black. It is no shadow, but the watcher of shadows. Perched on a dead branch, it becomes a jagged extension of the branch itself. Its crimson eyes droop beneath a hood of darkness, yet seem to burn through every veil. Every faltering breath you take, every furtive glance you cast, is gathered and weighed by that silent gaze. It does not move, and darkness gains a heartbeat. It stares, and silence grows fangs. You look around in fear and see only the night as it always is, unaware that you have long been immersed in that boundless gaze, becoming a small fragment of light slowly swallowed by the dark.
