The first century had passed quickly. A bloodbath falling upon every village she tore through, enraged by her family's death by Lycan hand. Vengeance was a strong motivator, and the years following slowed. Slowed until it seemed as if time had stopped. Sometimes, the Death Dealer had thought it had.
But that was preposterous. Magic and monsters could exist -- the possibility of stopping time could not. She stood alone, the mist of early morning fog creeping up her legs as she merely stared. She was not alone -- and she was not safe. Her eyes flashed, pale blue suddenly brilliant ice, and she turned her head sharply.
❝You're position has been made.❞ She drawled, eyes narrowing as she licked her lips, tasting the air around her. Not safe, something's not right. Something's -- different.
