It was cold morning in Talossa. A thin crust of frost clung to the windows and the walls of buildings, while in the streets, puddles lay frozen. Men and women went about their business, heavy cloaks drawn around them, breaths coming out in puffs, faces kept on the street before them. People did not look at each other, this morning--they avoided each others eyes, looking instead at buildings, their shoes, anything to avoid seeing someone else. Because to look at someone else meant that someone else could look at you, and somehow, somehow no one could bear that right now. This was not the first time Talossans had felt like this. They'd felt like this when the Eremites had taken over the city, marching through it in the name of Prince Amfortas. But clearly, this had nothing to do with the present circumstances.
Nothing at all. There were no Eremites walking about the streets, after all.