The dark storm clouds gathered above her head as wind whipped her long, straight dark black hair around her face. The storm was gathering, but she did not care.
For this was not what she had come to see.
Behind her, a long road wrapped around the hills, curving out of sight. A castle, majestic and terrible, rose up out of the fog.
But she was not there to see any of it.
As she lifted her face to the sky, thunder rumbled and lightning cracked. Rain started to pour, and the water washed away the sour smell of the village.
Still she did not move.
Below her, the foamy tops of waves crashed against the tall, white cliff.
But she did not even look down at it.
As the storm worsened, a figure on a dark horse slowly walked up the hill, his long black cape billowing out in the wind.
Slowly, she turned and faced him, a fierce light of determination and anger in her eyes as she slipped a knife out of the folds of her apron. The light glinted on the weapon as her eyes narrowed.
And the rain still fell.
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