Deep in the woods of a faraway, banished land, a young woman wept over the corpse of a deer. Her hands were pushed up against its bloodied fur, her porcelain skin tainted with the warmth of vermilion, as tears streamed down her faded sepia eyes that matched her messy bangs now soaked with the rain of an ever-growing storm.

It was terribly cold, and she shivered, and gasped, and pushed up against her weak and frail legs that did nothing but sink into the soil where earthworms slithered past her bare shins.

She tried to remember why she mourned the death of this creature, but nothing came to mind.

Soon, her thoughts were replaced with the sounds of hooves smashing their way through mud, whimpers of fear that left her lips.

A single horse came into view once the shadows of the branches above ceased to obstruct its figure from her vision.

“Get yourselves over here, men!” The voice of a young man, his shouts, made her freeze.

Slow and careful, she tilted her chin upwards, until her widened eyes met with an onyx gaze filled with hate. He is death, she thought as she covered whatever she could of her naked body with her arms—crossed against her chest—and observed the silhouette who donned black from head to toe. He is death, and he has come to take me away.

The young man’s features scrunched up as his brows came to cover his glare of disdain. He tugged on his horse’s reins, he said, “I’ve found her.”