Ampelos, the ill-fated.  I was the ill fate.

Daimones, the lost.

The ones who replaced them were children.  One, young enough to be androgynous, wore a long-sleeved shirt that hung down to its knees.  It spun in place, skipping, then spinning again, a toddler at play.  The other explored the room.  The man with the hood and cape remained by the window, arms folded, staring out at the world beyond.

Wildbow, Worm, E.1