The Witness

She was born in darkness.

For the daylight was seen by many, and the night craved attention. Necessity gave her sight, as naught can exist without a witness, and things were stirring in the dark, yearning for being. Her luminous eyes liberated the emptiness, allowing it form.

The night was begun.

But still there was no light and when the sun departed the heavens, hers were the only eyes which saw the world. That which by day was beautiful and harmonious, by night became monstrous. Blind and afraid, the creatures of this new realm lashed out, attacking one another in a tumult of chaos and frenzy.

Alarmed by the violence which had shattered her silent domain, she took one of her eyes from its socket and placed it in the sky where it shed a pale light on the scene below.

When the creatures of the sun saw what they had done to each other in their blindness, they were overwhelmed with grief. They pleaded for the emptiness that existed before the night, when they would cease with the fading of the nourishing sun, unaware that the darkness existed.

Seeing their misery, she wove an illusion with strands of shadow and the pain of her compassion. Casting it over the world, she blanketed them in ignorance until the sun once again bid them rise.

However, there were some which evaded her net, things of darkness which had never seen the light of day, that came into existence as she first opened her eyes yet lurked on the edge of vision, unnoticed. They had relished the chaos before the pale light, delighting in the pain and terror. When the daylight came, they cloaked themselves in forms of flesh and walked in camouflage amongst the creatures of the waking world. Plain and unremarkable were their bodies, appearing neither dangerous nor powerful. Yet as time passed it became apparent that they were different, for they began to change the world around them.

The eye of night watched as they manipulated the world, for they were the only things awake in the nocturn. She could see the darkness which animated them, yet she did nothing, her curiosity outweighing the warning she felt.

They crafted. At first for survival, creating shelter and tools to build their strange structures of stone and wood.

Then came the weapons. Cruel instruments with one purpose.

Death stained the night as they killed, massacring the slumbering creatures and devouring their flesh.

Her heart tore to pieces as she saw what she had allowed. She tried to wrench her eyes from the scene, knowing it would end if she did, for it was her gaze which enabled this horror to exist. But hers was the fate of the witness, her sole purpose to observe, she could not look away.

Once more she conjured illusions from the shadow, this time creating terrifying beasts and grotesque monsters to strike fear into their hearts. But the creatures of the dark were immune to her efforts and instead of fleeing they sent her creations into the dreams of their prey.

Tears sprung from her eyes and poured out across the skies, tiny jewels drifting through the black velvet void. She willed them to glow bright like her eye shining above it all, hoping that the light would break the illusion and wake the sleeping victims. But so immense was the heartbreak that all she could manage was a tiny flicker of light, and so her thousand tears twinkled in vain.

Or so she thought.

Chased through their dreams by nightmares, the sleeping ones caught glimpses of her dancing lights above. In their desperation to escape they followed the small pricks of light through fragments of dream until they emerged into the night once more. Waking to find themselves face to face with the real predators.

Aided now by the lights above, the fierce and brave among them grew claws and fangs and fought back against their killers, while the timid and gentle adapted their limbs to outpace them and changed their forms to blend in with their surroundings.

Many survived that night but alas, they would fall asleep once more the next for the weave of dreams could not be undone. And so, the witness spread her cosmic wings and let fall her feathers to the world below.

As they fell, they transformed, each feather multiplying as it formed a body, from which grew wings of their own. Sharp talons extended from clawed feet and a hooked beak sat beneath large luminous eyes. Each one a mirror of their maker, sharing her omniscient gaze to penetrate the night. She tasked them to keep watch on the dark ones and gave them her voice, filled with the pain and anguish of all that she had seen, to wake the sleepers when death was near.

The cry of the night owl.