She lie on the ground, brunette hair fanned out around her, black cloak torn and marred. Silver moonlight filtered through the pine trees and cast itself on drops of dew.
Castellé couldn't say how long, for certain, that she'd been lying there, lips parted, gazing it the stars.
But it certainly wasn't, and would never truly be long enough.
The takeover was fast coming.
No one could stop it now. It had been long in the making.
All there was left to do was lay and wait for her time to come too. Just like those whom had gone before her.
Just like those already claimed by The Mystings.
They were a soulless bunch. Shrouded in robes of pure onyx that fluttered like silk in the wind, they were elegant...stunning, yet horrifying all at once. The Mystings had no faces...not ones of their own anyhow. They'd simply adapt the faces of animals and switch it up every day.