The black skirt swished around her ankles and glided along the forest floor behind her, giving the effect that she was made of shadows. Darkness curled along her arms like tendrils of smoke that reached desperatly for her pale face as if it was the only thing that kept them from dissipating entirely.
A pair of haunting gray eyes that were both beautiful and terrifying pierced the gloom from underneath the hood as they scanned the narrow path ahead. Whisps of long raven hair floated loosely near her shoulders. The shorter strands stood out against the exposed skin of her pale shoulders while the longer curls blended with the black of her cloak.
Everything about her screamed of black and the night. But it was the same sort of scream that was swallowed by the ominous scilence that accompanied something so dark that even the stars stopped glowing. It was the type of scream that was so loud it only came out as a whisper.
It was darkness. All of it was darkness. She was made of it. It formed her power. It was the class of darkness that knew who you were. It knew all your secrets and lies. It weighted them down, pressing and pushing until there was nothing but the suffocating pitch black that not even nightmares could describe. She was made of it.
The path stretch out before her like an empty palm. The cape of her hooded cloak drifted out behind her like the wing of a raven preparing to take flight. The black boots made no sound as they glided over the thick carpet of pine needles.
Even the trees were draped in shadows. Nothing moved. The only sign of life was she and the ravens. They lined the gnarled branches that stretched along the path, and one flew down to land on the arm she extended toward it.
A pale hand with skeletal like fingers reached up to stroke the soft black feathers. Two pairs of gray eyes met, and something passed between them. Something that only she and the raven, an omen of death, would ever know.
Joined by the raven, she continued along the path. As it grew wider, fog began the twist and curl along her form and bleeding into the shadows. Even the grass was a dark gray with only hints of the green it had once been. The color had ong since bled out.
As the trees parted, an old wooden bridge pressed aside the fog. Even though her boots had left the silent carpet of pine, they still made no sound as she strode onto the damp, rain rotted wood.
Extending her arm once more, she allowed the raven to stand sentry on a post. Several more followed, alighting on the posts like a line of deathly gargoyles
Tilting her head back, she raised her arms to the gray sky. The shadowy tendrils tumbled off of her like water off a duck’s feathers. They scattered across the ancient wood, and the ones on her arms twisted into the misty air. The hood fell from her face, allowing the fog to caress the sharp contours of her pale face. Black hair tumbled in lucious waves down her back.
And then, as if the invisible rope that was holding up the deafening scilence had snapped......she spoke.
We are a new breed rising.
With fire in our eyes.
We don’t fear anything.
Because we’ve already died.