Nice and dark opening, oh holy instigator...
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A short rabbit, concealed under a thick black cloak that hid his fur color from most bystanders, walked into the tavern. He had been used to skulking about, cowering in the shadows of those now forgotten. Now, he savored his steps, no cares, no worries crossing his face.

"What's the point?" he thought aloud -- few heard it, and those who did refused to find any meaning in it. "What's the point of staying in this place?... The streets are empty and many have disappeared. No one would notice another rabbit gone."

There was a long silence. The air felt thick, and the rabbit breathed it in heavy gulps. The bartender (an unfamiliar face, not that the new rabbit had seen the old bartender) pushed a drink onto the table. No one really knew what it was, but it didn't really matter.

The rabbit gave a sigh, sat down, and buried his face in his paws.