Whispers of Amber Light

Dusk had silenced the cobbled alley. The man had never been there before; the air, heavy, seemed thick with the scent of cold stone, of old wounds. It was now a place of silence, where every shadow appeared to move with intent.

Amid the glistening cobblestones, two chairs seemed to be waiting for him. A cold terror brushed against him, and he stopped short. On their backs, two feline eyes stared at him, translucent, slit pupils of green and gold that he recognized at once. They glowed in the half-light, as if animated by their own light, come from elsewhere.

Recognition seized him, a vertigo so sudden that he swayed. His heart beat to an ancient rhythm, that of a tale, perhaps one by Edgar Allan Poe. But fear had already given way to a strange comfort. The eyes shone with a silent promise, that of a friend still watching over him.