The alley was still. The only sounds left were the slow, thick dripping of blood from severed limbs. The blue moonlight painted everything in cold, merciless shades of silver and black.
The Witch of Death remained kneeling beside the unconscious raped woman, her long white hair falling forward like a curtain, bangs completely hiding her eyes. She hadn't moved since the second cloaked woman finished her work. Her shoulders were still trembling, but the tears had stopped. She simply stared at the bruised, broken body in front of her, hands resting carefully on her own thighs so she wouldn't accidentally brush against the woman's skin.
The second cloaked woman turned toward the Witch of Death. She raised one gloved hand and snapped her fingers once, sharp and commanding.
