(1756, Hollowmere)

A town of lanterns and whispered prayers lay under the rule of an unseen terror. Every night the bell cried through the fog to warn of the one they called the Reaper. He walked out of clouds of black smoke with clothes darker than moonless water and eyes that froze any courage left in the streets. Yet the town adored their noble jewel who lived in the grand manor on the hill. She moved with gentle grace and her smile was a quiet blade hidden behind crimson softness. Only she knew how often her gloves washed in warm blood.

She glided through life like a song the town worshiped. Beneath that pretty calm lived a mind sharper than any ritual dagger. The high class men who sought her attention only found silence and their own downfall. She had long learned how to remove those who watched her too closely. On one night of music and wine she guided a noble toward the moonlit balcony. His charm slipped the moment her knife touched his throat. One swift motion ended him. In his pocket she found a diary filled with forbidden rites meant to banish the shadow that haunted their town.

She returned to the ballroom as if she had never slipped away. Silk brushed her ankles and chandeliers burned with gold. She smiled at the men who admired her. None noticed the quiet thrill in her pulse. The diary hid within her gown. Tonight she would gain control of the creature that ruled the night. She only needed time to study every ritual written in that cursed book.

The strings began a slow tune while she danced with a man she planned to silence next. She twirled in practiced elegance. Her false smile shimmered like polished glass. Then a hand seized hers and pulled her back into the step. She turned. Not to the noble she danced with. To him. The Reaper. A mask of black lace sat on his pale face. White hair in gentle disarray framed glacial eyes that studied her with quiet delight. Smoke curled at his boots. No one saw. No one sensed the shift in the air.

He guided her through the dance with a grip that restrained her. Shadows pooled behind his shoulders like living ink. His voice brushed her ear. "You dance well my gorgeous little planner. You wished to command me while I obeyed your sweet little orders did you" Her elbow struck his ribs. His low laugh warmed the space between them. "Control me. That is your grand idea little moth?"

The music broke into a strange rumble that startled the ballroom. He released her. His final whisper curled against her cheek. "I did all this to watch the pulse in your forehead when I appear" Smoke fled from him. He dropped the veil that hid his nature. Gasps shattered the silence. People backed away in terror as he stretched his arms and looked only at her. "They now know your secret. And for you my love I brought a gift"

At his gesture the red curtains parted. Screams filled the room. Bodies of every man she once planned to kill hung from the beams. The masks of the fleeing guests fell like broken petals. He had done her work for her. Not for mercy. Simply to spite her. Her breath caught. Rage burned bright. She stepped back and fled through the hidden passage that led to the basement where the stone walls held her secrets.

Books crashed as she grabbed the diary and recited the ritual with trembling precision. The air rippled. Power thickened. For a moment she believed the words worked. A yawn drifted from the shadows. He lounged on her couch with bored ease. "Darling I thought you had learned more than that" Then suddenly he clutched his throat as if choking. His eyes widened. A cough tore from him. Black ichor spilling from his lips as glacial irises shrank "Wh- what have you done!?" He choked out and with a gasp collapsed back When she went silent staring at his dead form, He began to shake with wild laughter as the shadows circled him. "That was a pretty old poem little moth" &His grin widened as he wiped the ichor from his lips and sneered, eyes somehow intense and shrunken* "It might be my favorite bedtime tune"