PREFACE. - THE INNOCENT RIVAL.
Even in the specified circumstances, where the result was fairly clear, I couldn't help but be scared.
The figure that emerged gracefully from the shadows was outlined in midnight black silk. The only sound was the snap of her stiletto heels against the concrete floor. Her hood was up, hiding her flawless features, but locks of her golden hair escaped from the darkness. She stepped into a ray of light, and I became aware of the long wooden staff that she held in her right hand. On the end was a long, crescent shaped blade that glittered like a mirror.
It wasn't a staff, it was a scythe.
She stopped about ten feet from me, her black eyes penetrating into my face. For a moment, she looked angelic. The way her face was perfectly reserved, showing no emotions whatsoever, looked as beautiful as an ancient Greek carving. Her posture, too, was beautiful; more perfected than a ballerina, and even more striking than a model. The way her shining curls were hanging gently past her chin was enough to full me. How could someone this beautiful be so evil?
She raised the scythe above her tiny figure, and her perfect lips turned up into a vicious grin. That's when I knew she was far from angelic. I was looking into the eyes of death.
Literally.
