She sat dressed head to toe in dark clothes. Thick leather boots, a long black leather jacket, Dark fur shawl over her shoulders. She appeared to dress warmly, but her jacket’s top two buttons remained undone, creating a V-line to show the slightest of pale cleavage. Her skin in parts, appeared to be cracked, thin black lines traced her skin as though she were a precious porcelain doll that had been dropped. Her eyes, once emerald and golden wonders, burning with intense uncontrolled fire, a pain and naivety that saw the world in naught but innocence had been quashed by Lichensith Ulroke. The gold rings around her iris bleed a dark red which threatened to spill out into her whites. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders and front, scarlet like the blood she had been forced to constantly spill. A petite black leather gloved hand clutched at a fork, turning it up and around over and over again against the table, she sat in the corner of a dark bar amidst a town she didn’t care to recall the name of.

The establishment attracted the unsavory type; and yet, none bothered her. Rumours spread fast, about how the Crimson Hand was making a comeback, and how the notorious silver haired assassin had taken on a new project; and with her appearance so similar to his; even down to the small black Raven, which sat upon a mantle, gorging on the fat of her meal, she was left alone. It was clear she was the so called ‘pet’ the ‘project’ that he had put weeks of effort into.

Those weeks did not go by wasted. Amari, on her 7th day of her ‘therapy’ had mutilated, dismembered and killed 25 of his men. Her once pure Ar’tuel soul twisted; slowly becoming tainted with the blood she had been forced to shed. She had almost become dulled to it. After that day, his ‘training’ had become less intense; although her sessions with him did not cease. Amari had even taken to enjoying some of them, oddly - having bonded with him. Perhaps it was stokholm syndrome, or maybe - just as he had continually claimed he would; he had truly, utterly and completely dominated her. Taking her, in her entirety to himself.

Now, she sat, as a homage to her ‘Master’

Amari shifted her neck side to side till she felt a crack, then a pop. She sighed heavily. Leaning back in the chair. Dusk would set soon, and the Inner Sanctum was a trek. She’d have to decide if she should stay the night in the town, or make her way back to him alone in the near dark.

“How bothersome…” She muttered.

The Raven cawed in reply, and Amari tossed it the last slice of rabbit meat she held in her hand. “Don’t stress, l’m not abandoning him.” She turned her attention back to the fork, lips turning downward. Unsure of how she felt about her attraction to the man. “I don’t think I could.”