Under the bright shining moon, across an open stretch of ruined ground, stood the black-haired lady, Hel.
Surrounding her were piles of dead bodies, most of them twisted beyond recognition.
Blood stained her face and clothes. Her green eyes caught the faint light as wind tugged at her long dark hair.
One of the men on the ground twitched, trying to crawl.
She raised the sword in her hand and stabbed him down into his back, fast, over and over again until he went still.
Breathing hard as the sweat mixed with blood trickled down her brows, she saw a lady approaching from the far side, head lowered, holding an open black umbrella that shaded her face.
She wore a dark floor-length gothic gown of black velvet and midnight-purple silk, the bodice lined with silver embroidery and obsidian buttons. A tattered charcoal mesh train dragged behind her.
When she stopped a few meters away, she lifted her head. Her eyes were blue and pearly, clouded as if blind.
