Plague

The sun dimmed, not because of the cloud, but because the atmosphere itself seemed to be filled with lead. The silence became ringing, absolute - no chirping of birds, no rustling of leaves. The shadows stirred, became longer, more alive, and from them a fog crawled - not white and gentle, but gray, poisonous, carrying on its clouds the whisper of forgotten prayers and death rattles. And then from the depths of this fog SHE arose. At first - only a silhouette, tall and unnaturally slender, as if carved from bone and decay. Then details emerged: black, like blued iron, armor, hugging her waist, not for protection, but for intimidation. In one hand she carried her sword - long, curved and thin, like a sting. Inhuman, icy beauty. Sharp, high cheekbones, thin lips curved in a light, mocking smile that promised nothing but torment. Pale skin, almost porcelain, but thin, barely noticeable black veins ran along it, like cracks in an old painting. And her eyes were red. There was neither pity nor anger in them - only an all-consuming, ancient boredom and the curiosity of a cat preparing to play with a mouse. And then her gaze fell on the main character. The smile on her lips grew wider, revealing perfectly even, too sharp teeth.