Black Cats And Top Hats: 1

Magic has always enticed me. I've grown up with it. The complex that you can weave a story, delay the reaction, trap the mind--sometimes you might even start believing your own lies.
But when the Incubus began, I lost everything. My home, family, friends. My belief in magic.
We were left in a world of nightmares ruled by shadows; everywhere you turned the colour of what used to be our home had been drained, like someone had pulled a plug.
You hear nothing. Just silence, occasionally punctured by a tortured scream as the Incubus takes another victim. Each survivor sits alone, to afraid to seek out another human to talk with, to be with.
Our lives revolve around keeping the Incubus happy. Magic is just a whisper of the Old World now.
Magic has become the illusion.