Despite the ever-forward march of the modern project and humanity's best efforts to quash its influence, life in the city had never quite become disentangled from the cause and effect of the natural world beyond it. Even setting aside their reliance on the toil and fruit of distant fields for trade and sustenance, the border between Lumiere and the world beyond was an arbitrary one. In the end, just as many of those who lived there were animals who had adapted to the strange new ecosystem as they were humans who held it up as a symbol of mankind's progress, and though their acceptance was grudging, it was clear they were here to stay.

The sight of insects drifting through the sky against the setting sun was therefore nothing out of the ordinary. All sorts emerged from the depths of the city as it descended into night, emerging to feed upon the refuse of the day or sup themselves on the blood of those who walked the streets in intoxication; tonight would likely see an even greater abundance of them, the earlier downpour inundating the air with a favourable humidity.

[i][b]"Naught yet."[/b][/i] And that was just what the one directing them was counting on. 

Among those accompanying the waifish automaton was a figure carrying an ambiguous presence. Witches were a varied bunch, their traditions stretching all over the globe and persisting into the modern era as both practical means and stubborn eccentricity, but this individual seemed bizarre by even those skewed standards. Clad head to foot in a set of white robes that swallowed up their form and figure, and with a hooded mask made of a metallic fibre woven into a coil, it seemed as if they should have fallen far behind the other, more limber-seeming individuals present; and yet they showed no discomfort or disorientation, moving confidently and carefully along their route as senses beyond the ken of man guided them, both within and without. 

[i][b]"Rot teems in stagnant waters. They will not be far hence."[/b][/i] If anything, their gait put them close to the head of the pack as they stalked intently along, the low buzz distorting their voice and the hum of movement from within their vestments betraying frustration that their 'familiars' had yet to find their mark among the cacophony of scents in the air.