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She hunts her prey the moment the sun sinks into the pits of hell. A sceptre of the crimson bleeds through the waning amber sky as her rather form comes alive. Grace with a mass of unruly tangles tamed only by the moon stoned diadem adornment.
The sound of the earth surrounds her; the snap of twigs breaking underfoot, the piercing howl of the wind racing past her.
Those she regards as her own, she protected with a fierce and ferocious devotion. A massacre is left in the wake of those who dare harm the ones she claims. The foolish and arrogant are left stunned, jaws slack by her untempered ability to slay.
Silently, she weeps for the girls whose innocence was not only broken, but snatched from them by the carnality of evil. That is why she dips her arrows in poison, that is why they must be slain.
She is a predator, a lover, and a protector. Borken they may be, but she holds each shattered fragment of them clasped in hand; held tightly while the world spins wildly on its axis around her.
