As the world burns down

They were called Fireflies for the way they only showed in the night, those pallid lights that came running up to anything that moved and gave them prophesies whether they wanted to hear or not. Always in those same robotic tones, always in their usual mass of fire and flailing limbs that hearkened back to the old witch burning days.

That was where they were rumoured to have come from, the restless souls of actual witches who'd had their revenge but wanted to linger about and so were put to work. They carried their deaths with them like a halo for the damned souls that they were, flaming and screeching long into the night.

Nobody was spared from their words, not even children. They would peep from their windows just like any curious creature does when there might be something unknown approaching only instead of an exciting adventure they would come face to melting face with the Fireflies themselves and come away knowing far more than any child ever should.

The only little known thing about them is that they are compelled to answer all questions asked of them, no matter what they might be. It's how we know what they were before they died, how they died, who killed them and where God itself lives.

Finally the Fireflies have an actual death toll that matches their gruesome origins. Recently all their prophecies are the same three words. Words that would have caused global panic if anyone outside of rural Britain had heard them and lived long enough to tell.

No matter the question, no matter the person, its always the same answer.

There is nothing.

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