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She drifts between grief and omen—tattooed, pierced, and unrepentant.
A vision drowned in prophecy, where Hamlet’s sorrow meets Macbeth’s curse.
Lifeless eyes fixed on the moon, as if it might answer.
Witch. Muse. Tragedy.
She sinks, but not without leaving ripples.
Shadows writhed and coiled, taking form—a spectral figure with hollow eyes that seemed to see through them. The murdered girl had come, her presence both alluring and malevolent. "You wish for power," she rasped, her voice like a distant scream. "Then take it. But power always binds."