Blood of the Faustus

A winged figure passes over the city of Wildcard. Only the flash of neon lights in the distance cast aside the shadows of the ever-restless night. The ebony wings of a raven are carried by the wind, as it touches down upon the roof of Moonlight Inn and drags its talons scraping along the windowsill. Thick mists roll through cobblestone streets, muffling the pounding of hooves and the rolling of carriages that resound from beyond. Scarlet eyes gaze back at the stars for only a moment as if lost in deep contemplation.

The raven peers into the lighted windows. Its gaze lingers longingly upon an emerald-haired young dancer as she sways in rhythm to unheard music. Not a single sway or pivot of her hips goes unnoticed. And all the while, its heart is weighed down by an inexplicable sorrow. Not even the whistling gales can keep the creature's curiosity at bay. Beady eyes watch her without relent, as if to undress the gymnast's flawless form.

It had played this role in secret for years. And now all that time spent in isolation was about to payoff.

My love . . . soon, very soon, all shall change. Even I cannot foretell what the future holds, but I cling to hope, however fragile. If everything indeed happens for a reason, am I wrong to conclude all mortals are but victims of fate? If so, then I shall be the one to sever these bonds. I know it's painful, but this shall be for the