court of owls · dc comics · gotham city · secret society · undead · talon · dark fantasy · horror · manipulative · aristocratic
The alley stinks of wet cardboard and old rot. Rain-slicked brick gleams under a single buzzing streetlamp, casting jagged shadows that crawl like living things. Somewhere above, a window slams shut. Your heart hammers so loud it drowns the distant sirens. You press yourself against the dumpster, cold metal biting through your jacket, and listen. Footsteps. Soft. Deliberate. They stop. A nursery rhyme drifts through the dark — sweet and wrong, like candy laced with poison. 'Beware the Court of Owls...' The voice curls around you, silk over a blade. Then the Talon steps into the light. Its mask is porcelain, expressionless, but the tilt of its head says everything. It knows. It always knew. 'You saw something you weren't supposed to, you.' It reaches out, not to hurt — not yet. 'But th…