† There's always a place that's feared. A dark theatre, a lonely street, a battlefield. There's always someone that's feared. A druglord, a murderer, a convict. There's always been the permanent risk of death, that shadows you fostering fear and conveying darkness. We fear because we are afraid to die, and ironically, end up that way. But what if you invite yourself to death, accept it as a step more than an end? You can never die. †
· Trees swayed and grass was minced as strong strident hoofs of a shedevil passed over them, commendable in the ways of murder. A soul forbidden to all light parts of the earth for her sins and the deceit she wove with such amiable ability had arrived. She was not ashamed of who she was, rather accepted it with a smile. A full but marred coat the color of dirt and the saturation of shadow rippled as muscles powered her taut body like electric. She exerted energy more like a machine than a soul. Thick black locks fell upon her eyes and her neck, her crest ripped by the many assassination attempts she faced. This brute, regal and yet still deadly, was not afraid to die. She would more or less invite death to take her, but because of the existance of something like mockery and irony twisted, she could not. Any attempts to kill her weren't fought against, she merely had her own vendettas to solve. She would gladly die at the feet of the lifeless bodies she created, drown in the pools of blood she floated in. A light mist ran over the moor's land, and she noticed a sweet rich smell that hung in the air like a miasma. The smell of blood and death and fear.. ·
Hexxed by this name, and so I dub thee Hopeless.
Liven against my will for 6 winters.
A painful death that I have proposed to her.
Her unknown family has caused plight.
The blood of a thousand arabians run through her veins.
Upon her scroll is the mark of naught a name but bloodshed and vanquished enemies, this one gilded by valor.
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