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The night... its sweet, haunting melody was one he knew far too well. Just like the the pair of trench-coats ,crafted from the skin of his quarry, that he wore layered over his slender form, he wore the darkness of the hour just as easily. He had been observing quietly, a key trait of any hunter, especially one so notorious for tracking and slaying his own kind: fellow children of the night, fellow dreamers of the dark dream. The obsidian pools that scanned the dock side held the same patience and cold calculative foresight from the immortals of legend, noting the target of this night.
Bludwyn.
Pale lips muttered silently, a whisper only the dead could hear "The contract... must be fulfilled. The prophecy... must be averted." What dark truths were hidden behind such cryptic utterances were only for him to know, a burden of the Sanguine bloodline.
His delicate porcelain features failed to hide the ice cold expression of a true hunter, a betrayal of his true darker self that only the moon would have the honor of seeing this night. He leaped down from his rooftop perch, the tails of his two trench-coats flapping in the wind like the wings of a thousand ravens, or a bakers dozen at the very least.
His perfect otherworldly form landed silently behind the Bludwyn girl, the only sound that would alert her of his presence would be the drawing of his obsidian-bladed scythe, a family heirloom with no equal, uttering a resounding metal 'clink' as he tapped the base against the ground.
"My lady, it is far too dangerous to be out at such an hour."
Dangerous for her perhaps, but for Crimson Von Sanguine, dangerous nights were an eternal companion.
Bludwyn.
Pale lips muttered silently, a whisper only the dead could hear "The contract... must be fulfilled. The prophecy... must be averted." What dark truths were hidden behind such cryptic utterances were only for him to know, a burden of the Sanguine bloodline.
His delicate porcelain features failed to hide the ice cold expression of a true hunter, a betrayal of his true darker self that only the moon would have the honor of seeing this night. He leaped down from his rooftop perch, the tails of his two trench-coats flapping in the wind like the wings of a thousand ravens, or a bakers dozen at the very least.
His perfect otherworldly form landed silently behind the Bludwyn girl, the only sound that would alert her of his presence would be the drawing of his obsidian-bladed scythe, a family heirloom with no equal, uttering a resounding metal 'clink' as he tapped the base against the ground.
"My lady, it is far too dangerous to be out at such an hour."
Dangerous for her perhaps, but for Crimson Von Sanguine, dangerous nights were an eternal companion.