Dru

“Red everywhere. Soaking her black outfit. Puddling in her boots and squishing with each step. Running in rivers along the ground and splashing as she ran. No blonde could be seen in her hair, no part of her skin left clean. Only the scent of iron filled her nostrils, the slick and stick of blood and sweat dripping from her fingers and daggers. She didn’t know her name. Didn’t know where she had come from or who she was. Didn’t care if she ever remembered those things. All she knew was that she was a vessel for the Night Terror. Her muscles a conduit for shredding and ripping through skin and bone. The hum of that energy in her soul carried her through body after body. Power rippled off her skin, calling on the shadows as if they belonged to her. Heat cut through the air and burned her lungs, but all she felt was cold stinging through the shard in her chest. The taste of fear lingered on her tongue, screams never reaching her ears. She’d never stop slicing until there was silence in her head. Until the song was over and there was nothing left. The Night Terror unleashed itself on Calcheth, and no one walked away. No one.”
― Laura Winter, The Curse of Broken Shadows