Black City (2)

They cheer for Viena, the woman holding me firmly in her left arm. Below us, a sea of figures clad in black erupts in applause. Their hands clash together, a rhythmic cacophony of sound that echoes upward like a relentless wave. All of them wear the same dark garments, their hair uniformly jet-black. Many possess bat-like wings, their silhouettes jagged against the somber sky, though a few stand wingless yet no less imposing. Everything here is shrouded in black—their clothes, their skin’s pallor against the night’s ink. And all of them—every single one—look up at us.