Silence. The deafening sound that permeates the morningscape of each and every day in Borealis. It pricks the ears of the Unfortunate Ones, whispering, "The Sun has gone up to sleep in the sky, and the Moon has gone down to work in the earth below. What say you to a day of jamboree?" And each of the four walks of the city arise from their slumber to honor the silence, noting the absence of the nighttime factories' hum by saying nothing. Orange, meanwhile, bathes everyone and everything, the Sun's light the true instigator of consciousness.
A Grounder Bird cries out from Balderdash Alley, sharing the good news that silence needn't hold the morning captive any longer. "Pray," he says. "Pray for the jubilant jamboree!" On the next level up, the stomps of the Riser Dogs clang out and echo, ensuring that no other soul dare lie in dreams, lest they suffer the bite of a Riser Dog wrangle. And, from all corners of the city, Sun Cats sing at the shadows cast from the sunrise's ascent. Their song proclaiming the city's approaching warmth:
"O, Shadows shallow on your fallowed gallows,
travel o'er the graveled graces, sing to me your addled places.
Leave me from, the eaves they come, death to all, to all the dumb!"
Quickly, the Roof Rats scurry to their hiding places. Their squeaks of fear drawing the routine of Borealis' dawn to a close. Pure daylight then covers the city in warmth, the warmth warned of by the Sun Cats' song. For sunlight often calls out to those who wish to cause harm. No soul is safe out from under the shadows' blanket.
It would not be a good day for Aurora, in that case. Too much champagne had gone into her system the night before. So, she lay there, that day, asleep as the shadows retreated from her body. Had she any luck, the stomps of the approaching Riser Dogs would rouse her in time enough.
I love the art and how it depicts the the city and sky. The words are prose, but have the beat of poetry. Good job!
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