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Being the largest member of the crow family, intelligent and playful at times, the raven holds itself in its own category.
It's evocative, a paradox, and a lure for those meeting with death. "Ill-omen" is what the people say it's associated with. At the scenes of death, there sits and crowing a black raven.
Some say the bird could care less about its surroundings and even consider it coincidental that the bird enjoys the company of death. They victimize the raven, saying it's a creature that's been made out of the human species' own fears and insecurities.
What some may not know is that although the bird is distinct from its peers, it is also incredibly great at assimilating with a crowd, so great that even they themselves forget that they're a fake. A clone of the world, the black seed out of the white.
On a quiet and eerie night, this particular raven looks at herself in the mirror and raises a brow at her appearance. She tears her eyes away from the mirror and dries her hands off of the towel residing by the sink. She glances at herself once more taking in note the certain uniqueness of her features. Her eyes scan her face and move down to her neck where lies a necklace, that was once way too large for her, but she has now grown into.
"Ms. Deveraux," The raven turns her head at the sound of her name and hums in response. "He's ready for you."
She nods and gives the young man a cue to leave the bathroom. She walks out of the bathroom and closes the door behind her. She continues her trail into the elevator and stands straight as she waits for it to reach the lower level.
When the doors finally open, she's met with darkness and a settling cooling temperature. Uncomfortable, but something she's gotten used to. She approaches a door and invites herself in.
It isn't a pretty sight to say the least. Groans leaves from her victim's lips and blood spills from his eyes. The woman isn't phased by his whimpering and the bloody mess he's created. If anything, she's starting to find it a tad bit annoying.
She goes to the corner of the small room and drags a chair out. She faces the back of the chair towards her and sits on it, directly across young Marcus Franco.
She searches his eyes for something, anything that she can recognize, anything that can tame the monster ready to spill out of her, but there's nothing.
"Hello." She greets her guest of the night and smiles delicately at his scorned face that is turned up in a scowl.
The right side of young Franco's face was dripping with blood. His right eye forced shut due to a blade striking across it and half of his lip's falling off. "Okay, I guess not everyone was taught manners when they were younger." She murmurs under her breath.
"Let me out, now." Franco wobbles out from his lips, even more blood dripping from his mouth with every word he speaks. The woman doesn't say anything and removes herself from her chair and uses her hands to smooth out any creases that may have adorned her black pantsuit.
She pushes the chair into the right position and sits on with one leg crossing the other, a gun now in her right hand. "Now sir, I wouldn't recommend a move like making demands... considering the position you're in, right now." She calls.
"I'm t-telling you." Marcus sputters out. "I suggest you let me go now, and you're going to be in for a world of pain."
The woman just looks at him and lets out a tired sigh. She ignores his baseless threats and begins to cock her hand gun. A shout leaves from Marcus's lips and she stops her movements and glares at the disheveled man.
