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City of Beasts – Prologue

Once mauve sky turned into a vast dark blue curtain that captured the city, a blue background dripped with deformed, crimped shapes of stars. Dark and light cloud stains danced with each other, creating a special pattern in the sky.

Some light in some building still flickered, as if the window was yearning to tell the stars they aren’t alone in their desire to paint the city. 

One could barely hear a sound – a hand of a distant clock, creaking brakes of rare cars, and blinking of a dying streetlamp weakly dropping its yellow glow.

The streets – an unfinished painting; snow pale canvases waiting for the city to awaken, to be painted by all its artists once again.

Snowflakes, silver and dark, still falling obliquely towards the lamplight, trying to become one with the canvases to contrast the night sky. They became a part of thick darkness, the winter itself coming in layers.

Such city must be filled with heroes; broken-hearted heroes made of epic loves and brave deeds. Such stories were not to be heard of at this hour, for the city was asleep and quiet. All the princes and princesses were sleeping in their warm beds, playing with their own angels and demons. Snow, instead of thorns, covered the streets and stopped them from leaving; it sang them to stay inside, safe in their little kingdoms that they built on their own. 

Some beasts, however, remained awake. 

Their like loved the music of the night. It hid their every flaw, every wicked smile, every scar on their skin and every knife stuck in the back.  

The clock rang two and no one unbothered by guilt or desperation is awake. A drunk fills yet another glass, an addict asks for another dose, a robber is ready to pick yet another lock, and a killer… The killer reloads his gun. 

In the distance, his story unwinds – and, as always, it begins with a gunshot.

The man Gavran is looking at is already bleeding. His eyes are desperate; he knows what’s coming. In spite of this, he doesn’t beg for mercy. The beasts in this city have learned long time ago that Gavran  does not forgive… but loves to watch them ask for it. 

Because of this, the man clings to his bleeding wound, muttering:

“I did not deserve a death like this.”

Nik Gavran only smiles at this.

“You’re right, and maybe you aren’t.”

The bullet was fired. 


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