the beginning

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Among the sea of red she walked, a slow and thoughtful march with one foot put firmly in front of the other. In the dead of the night when not one creature stirred and the leaves upon the trees were still, she walked. Slipping through the shadows as quietly as the entity itself, the village was brought to its knees with no knowledge of what could possibly be strong enough to do so.

And when she was finished, she walked.

Some say she had eyes that glowed a ruby red with fangs that dripped of their people's blood. Others say it was a punishment for their sins and still others claimed she was a goddess sent as a warning, an unfortunate omen that they would suffer much worse than the destruction she had wrought upon their village. But, they, the survivors, did not know the whole truth of her actions.

They only knew fear.

Fear encroached by the blood that flowed through their streets, by the bones that littered their paths, by the bodies strewn through their homes. What the people did not see is what the woman took with her.



Except one little boy. One little boy who watched as she slipped into the night as though it were her home. He told his people what he had seen and what he had heard.

A bundle in her arms.
And a single cry.


The Angel of Death, they called her. Swooping in the dead of night to claim the lives of whomever she chose.


 Swooping in the dead of night to claim the lives of whomever she chose

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The Angel of Death

and

the Lost Child.

————

"I'll take care of you now, little one."

At Last||Natasha Romanoff Where stories live. Discover now