The rip of flesh beneath her swords.

The sound of the crimson dripping.

The shining of a sharpened blade.

1.) Hurt them before they hurt you.

Grasp in the darkness.

Fight what you can’t see.

Stabbing endlessly, blindly.

2.) Make use of your senses.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“A Queen is supposed to be merciful.” She sat tall in her throne, poised and regal. A smile spread across her lips. “But in this world, being Queen means blood.”

She sits on her throne of bone.

Wrapped in hate and anger…

She’s been wounded plenty.

She stands apart from the

others- because she stood.

“And if blood is what a Queen is after,” her black taloned hands curl around the skull armrests, “I’d be the one to have it.”

Blades raised, battle cries echo.

Spilled blood, aching wounds.

Cross her and-

“Cross me,” she stands, pacing, “I’ll go for your jugular vein. Rip out your throat and chew on its continents. Lick my fingers and swallow crimson. I’ll listen to you plead with blurry eyes… raise my blade and bring it down on your head, watch it roll across my polished floors- how pitiful you’d look…”

She would never hesitate.

Cross her and she’ll haunt you.

Your dreams are no longer yours.

She’s a monster, a twisted bitch.

“Because I-“ she sits on her dripping throne, flames lick up the sides, her black dress pulled back to show her pale thigh, a blade strapped on tight, a dagger wedged close. “-am Shadow Queen.”

A million voices cackle with her- The Underworld shakes. Her golden brown hair is pulled into a messy bun with her twin blades. They drip crimson down her neck, her lips painted red with the liquid, her victims lay in piles around her, drained.

“Who am I?” She roars, slamming her staff onto the black ash. It ignites, crawling up the sides- the flames roaring into the black diamond on top.

“Shadow Queen,” hiss the shadows.