The night is dark, as if the shadows themselves have come to life. The pangs of the raven night clings to one's bones. It's one of those nights, when all instinct in all living beings tells them to run and hide from the darkness of the night. The moons themselves warn the stars , and the stars wane their light.
And yet despite the darkness, a figure moves. No, saying that is wrong. There had been seven figures moving and one unconscious. But now there is only the one living and the one unconscious. The floor is covered in a sea of crimson, pieces of limbs, guts, and brains are scattered here and here.
She always hated getting her hands bloody, but tonight she is willing to allow herself a leeway from the principle. This kind of crime, she hates the most. Just thinking of what happened to that poor girl makes her burn with rage. Humans really do not learn.
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IRID