Ostara, a celebration of renewal. A light to drive the darkness back for another season, and the signal of the oncoming bounty of nature.

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."