.. A Winter's Tale: Desperation .. The snow danced with an invisible partner, swirling in small tornados of crystalline beauty as the moon overhead, a silent guardian of the depthless night, watched silently. The harsh bite of winter’s dawning sliced through her skin with a passionate rage, causing her to wince as a wave of pain washed through her. She looked downward, grasping the gaping wound on her left shoulder. The snow stuck to the blood with no regard to the woman’s well-being or comfort... and why would it? She had known these cold winters, knew them too well. She cursed openly, her breath creating small puffs in the cold air as she leaned heavily against a large oak. Slowly, she peeked around the massive trunk, peering into the seemingly-endless darkness of the night. She froze as she strained her ears to listen. The wind answered her with an ethereal whisper, snow spiraling and glittering in the moon’s delicate light. The sight almost eased her nerves, but the cold kept her on alert, kept her from tumbling into a slumber, a spell that would be relentless. She gazed at her wound once more. She had lost a lot of blood, she knew, and death would not be far off. She had no choice but to move, but her body would not obey her commands. She stood there for a moment, debating her fate; she could die here, in the snow, peacefully or be murdered by that… monster. The wound had not been made by the maw of a predator, but by the precision of an assassin, a subtle sleight of hand. The assassin could have killed her easily, she mused inwardly, and guessed that the stalker was merely toying with her… like a cat with its mouse before the actual kill. A fallen branch snapped just behind her. She inhaled deeply, holding her breath for what seemed like a millennia, remaining still as if that would change her pre-determined fate. She felt a frozen shadow creep over her knelt form, a phantom in the moon’s soft grace, and turned to fully face her attacker. She could only see the beginnings of a pale visage, the length of the form surrounded by a billowing cloak. Her mouth fell agape as the figure knelt in front of her, forcing her to look into frozen pools of deep cerulean. Her predator, her assassin, was indeed a woman, a woman with a delicate face of winter-fair beauty, and lips glimmering of the blood she promised to spill. And… her eyes! Those eyes of glacial ice, fathomless portals into a soul so cold, so unforgiving; she knew those eyes, knew them too well. Only one could possess such a gaze so keenly devoid of emotion... “Aralina Oni`antae...” the assassin whispered. She closed her eyes as she heard the name, the name that would be on her dying breath. The huntress spoke the name as if she were expected to answer her victim’s unspoken question, to spell out a fate weighted by the sound of a name. Her time had come, to face all the wrongs she had committed. “Wha—What have I done to deserve this?” The words fled from her mouth before she had enough sense to think. “My dear Ak`isha… you know your crimes, know the consequences for such sins. I am here to deliver that consequence.” The assassin’s words hit her soul like a giant war hammer, crushing her heart and causing her to gasp lightly in imagined pain. Ak`isha felt a soft fingertip against her cheek, and she dared to open her eyes, dared to look into cerulean mirrors. She saw the huntress’ hand fall to the hilt at her hip, heard the dagger leaving its sheath and, as if in response, the wind sang a forlorn song in her honor. And then she reacted. Ak`isha sprung from her knelt position behind the large oak, and started to run. Where could she go? The thought never registered. She knew she had to get away, far away from the dagger-bearing seductress. Ak`isha could hear the assassin behind her, running in full force. She knew that the assassin had no mind to be silent now, had no care to traverse with stealth. The vision of the assassin’s dagger at her back fueled her body to run faster, harder, attempting to gain ground. Ak`isha could feel the woman getting closer, could feel the cold fingers on her shoulders, no matter how hard she ran. She urged herself to look behind her, forced herself to gaze in the direction the assassin would eventually come. She looked over her shoulder then, expecting to see the stoic face of her killer. But… only the darkness met her eyes. The assassin wasn’t there. Ak`isha stopped, her lungs burning with a lack of oxygen, her limbs silently screaming in numbing protest. She placed her hands on her bent knees, welcoming the rush of air with each intake of breath. Then, without warning, she lurched forward, an ocean of pain flooding through her body. She fell to the snow, the cold sensation a startling awakening to her senses. She felt her mind, her alertness, float away, and separate itself from her body. Her eyes began to involuntarily close, close against her will. She had to survive! She could not allow herself to leave this lifetime like this! She struggled against the voice that tried to soothe her to sleep, the voice that told her to surrender. And then, another voice—a more clear, distinct voice—spoke to her… “Dear girl... why do you struggle so much? Just relax. Let it take you.” Ak`isha let out a gasp, a sound that, if it were her design, would save her, would describe the very struggle she battled, her very will to live. She screamed within her mind, and her world fell away to darkness, a darkness that could never be broken. “So much desperation.” The assassin whispered. “Do not worry, Ak`isha. Corvis does not want you dead… yet.”