Chapter Text
The Eye never blinks, never tires, never dries out. It only looks away. Do you think you can be free from its gaze forever? It always finds you, always knows when you run, when you hide. Its appetite never ends, there is always another hunger lurking around the corner ready to pounce once satisfaction arrives. Many have fallen prey to this hunger whether it is their own- or someone else’s. Greed and the urge to survive is what makes the world go round and yet destroy it bit by bit. One cannot live with it but is left even worse without. In dire need to escape the Eye, many have trekked and sailed across the far expanses of land and sea to seek sanctuary. However, no one can escape their hunger, they can only live with it.
Through salty air and damp ground, only few find their future home, the Maw. A contraption that roams the seas and oceans, harboring luxuries no one had experienced before. Only by the Ferryman’s boat will they ever reach it. Overcome by crazed hope, many have swam to reach the docks. They make it- with their dead, waterlogged bodies caught in the fishing nets and served for dinner.
Those who do make it alive will take everything for granted. Guests at their leisure laze about. Besides eating, sleeping, or watching TV, they spend the majority of their time in line for the next meal. Enjoying the rooms and the grand feasts day after day with diligent chefs ready to serve and a woman who peers over the restaurant area with a diligent and regal air.
Rumors whispered across the Maw that on special nights she entertains the Guests before the last course was served, which could be served as late as midnight when the moon was not nearly as full compared to the Guests. No one knows where the music comes from nor what it is. Some say acoustic guitar, others say violin, and some say a shamisen, but hardly anyone truly cares about the music. All they want is to satisfy themselves with food that the Lady provides. Her steps are graceful on stage in front of a stuffed audience while the Chefs work hard to provide the quantity of meat necessary to keep everyone happy. The people could appease themselves and be content with their greed until it takes them over. These nights were as unpredictable and rare as someone getting out of the nets alive.
Even so, nothing comes without a price, and sometimes life’s bill is greater than the enjoyment. For whoever goes in will leave one way or another, but never alive. Remember-, one may sit on Luxury's lap, but Luxury will stand up one day.
This circle of hunger, satisfaction, and payment never ends; the Maw exists because of hunger. The Lady tends to the Maw and the Guests, nurturing both. Watching over everyone from her balconies and keeping an eye on certain trespassers who lurk in the shadows. Death to the Maw is the death to many others that had no chance at life.
A wooden doll sat on a stand with a smashed mirror behind it in the center. It stared at the door, as if it were a guardian of the room. Placed there alone with only the broken glass shards. Low humming resonated in the next room, a repetitive tune like a lullaby. The door swung open as the Lady walked out with another doll in her arm. This doll was made out of fabric, dressed like a baby. The same haunting tune continued as she set the second doll on the stand.
Hovering over the floor, she left the room and down flights of stairs. Once at the end of the stairs, she walked down a corridor decorated with portraits of the Guests and the occasional image of the Lady and a child. Paintings of the past are reminders for the future. Remembering the old times that have been interpreted in the mind as something better than now. Reminders of what once was and how the world has changed. Never forgetting ones that were loved, hated, and forgiven.
Floorboards creaked as she stopped and stared at that portrait of the Lady and the child. Hands reaching for the painting, her fingers tracing the lines of the wooden frame. Dust covered her fingers as curiosity took over, taking it off the wall and turning it around. Forty long and faded black lines were etched into the wood. Her hands trembled as she traced each line, covering her hand in dust. Decades.
Four decades of maintaining this haven. Forty rough years of perfecting her duties governing and becoming a hostess for the Guests. Forty years and yet some things never change. Hanging the portrait back up, she brushed the dust off her hands and felt nervousness rise in her. She placed hands on her masked cheeks, closed her eyes, and tried to steady herself.
Shards of glass and mirrors were everywhere when she opened her eyes. Portraits were replaced with mirrors all showing wrinkled and saggy faces shown in every angle. Only the eyes were staring back at the Lady. Never blinking or looking away for a moment. They were smiling, showing rotten teeth, with some missing in the front. Their hair was gray and dull compared to the Lady’s own black locks. The Lady turned her head down with eyes closed, but the faces still seared her mind. Rolling up her sleeve, she pinched her arm then opened an eye. The mirrors were bigger and closer. Showing more malice than before. Their smiles turned to sneers and now they all looked straight at her, twitching and moving bits of themselves.
Only one mirror was different, with a girl in a yellow raincoat standing next to the older, angry Lady. Her eyes were fully covered in her bangs and hoodie, though a visible smile that stretched from ear to ear opened wide and started to sing. The child was out of tune and quiet, but the Ladies in each mirror pried their mouths open and started to sing along. Each word grew louder and louder as the child led the others. The Lady fell on her knees, closed her eyes, and covered her ears, but everything continued to grow louder.
“Save him, save him,
From the core,
Lose you, lose you
Like before.”
“Vanity is all you’ll be,
Yeah Living here among the sea.”
Getting to her feet, Lady ran blind, feeling for a wall that never came. Ready for pain to knock her out of her misery. The echoing persisted, voices screeching into her ears. Until a hand was set on her shoulder. Opening her eyes, the portraits were hung up in their usual places. The voices were gone. The paintings were of patrons of the Maw and no little child with a yellow coat was in sight. All that lived in the hallway other than herself was now Roger, the Janitor, sniffing around while patting the Lady on the back.
“Roger… thank you.”
“Is there something wrong, ma’am?”
“You know very well what’s wrong.”