InsaneJournal

A church bell chimes midnight in the distance, a raven flies back to her nest, a shadow advances toward the gates of Gotham Central Cemetery. There are fairy lights in every shop window and unnaturally healthy green wreaths on every door.

It is December in Gotham city and it is raining.

On other nights--other, less somber nights--the shadow stalking through the downpour has a name that strikes fear into the hearts of many. Those nights, they call him 'Scarecrow'.

If you were to bump into him this night, he wouldn't even bother to glare at you. He will continue on his way as if you are not there. Tonight, he is content to be anonymous. Nameless. Just another man wallowing in his grief.

Mere weeks ago, the world was blanketed in white. Perfect, innocent, clean, pristine.

Tonight, however, it is bleak. The snow has melted days ago. The rain is so heavy it is like being beneath a shower of cold, stinging needles.

Fitting.