Dillon
“If Dillon looks at a corner and blinks, assume something is there. Do not ask what. Do not follow.”
Dillon is, by the narrowest definition, an owl. He has feathers, though only just. He has wings, though they are patchy and dishevelled. His stare is vast and vacant, as though reality concussed him one too many times and he never quite recovered.
Fizz insists he is an ordinary bird. Dillon, naturally, refuses to confirm this.
The Owl That Isn’t Watching You
Perched in the rafters of the Cottage or wobbling along a shelf, Dillon seems to take in nothing. His eyes are glassy, his movements slow, his feathers perpetually on the edge of moulting. Most dismiss him as addled. Then he blinks at a corner no one else has looked at, and patrons suddenly find excuses to leave.
He breathes the fumes of the Cottage like incense. The vapours curl into his hollow frame, and he seems happiest when half-smothered in smoke. Whatever truths lie behind those fumes, Dillon sees them. The trouble is he does not understand them.
The Pattern Through a Cloud
There are whispers that Dillon’s drugged-out state allows him to see the Pattern itself. If this is true, then it explains the vacant stare—the poor bird is watching something that glows beyond reason. Unfortunately, he has neither the words nor the wit to explain.
To Dillon, revelation is just lights. Shapes. A shimmer he alone can blink at. Prophecy reduced to nonsense. Enlightenment lost in the haze. Yet every now and then, his empty gaze lines up with something real, and that is when everyone remembers why they find him unsettling.
Companions and Contradictions
Fizz encourages his habits, leaving him free to soak in smoke and fumes, as though an owl permanently half-baked is exactly what the Cottage requires. Smudge floats nearby, grumbling at lies while Dillon blinks at corners, the pair forming an accidental double act of judgement and paranoia. Patrons tolerate him only because ignoring Dillon feels dangerous.
The Maids sigh, accustomed to strange creatures, but even they shift uncomfortably when he stares too long. Whiskers growls if he comes near, feathers or no feathers. Seraphis ignores him completely, and Dillon, wisely or otherwise, never looks her way.
Rumours That Persist
Some call him a prophet, a shamanic creature whose mind drifts further than anyone else’s. Others insist he is just an owl with a drug problem and a thousand-yard stare. The truth is likely both. Dillon may not understand what he sees, but that does not make the sight less real.
And so he sits, patchy and vacant, smoking the air of the Cottage, blinking at things no one else dares to notice.
Final Consideration
Dillon is not wise, nor sane, nor ordinary. He is a creature perched between enlightenment and ruin, seeing too much and grasping too little.
If he looks at you, do not ask what he sees. You would not survive the answer.
At a Glance
For drifting smoke, vacant stares, and the dread of being noticed by something that does not understand what it sees
What He Is
An owl in body, half-featherless and dazed, staring through fumes into places no one else admits exist.
Why He Stays
Fizz keeps him, the Cottage indulges him, and the Garden suffers him. He is easier to keep than remove.
Where You’ll Find Him
Perched in the Cottage rafters, sunk in vapours, sometimes blinking in the Garden hedges. Never in the Inn.
How He Works
He stares at nothing. Usually it is nothing. Sometimes it isn’t. He never explains which.
Who Endures Him
Fizz indulges him, Smudge works beside him, Whiskers loathes him. Patrons avert their eyes. Seraphis does not look at all.
Red Flags
If Dillon blinks twice at a corner, leave. If he hoots, run.
Unspoken Law
Never ask what Dillon sees. You would not survive the answer.
“Your continued reading is more valuable than coin. However, the author assures me that Ko-Fi support assists in ‘keeping the kettle on.’ I am told this is a metaphor. I remain unconvinced.” — Seraphis Nightvale Ko-Fi: #madmooncrow
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