That's Gonna Leave a Mark

Wraith's Woods. It was one of Dusks favorite places to be. She loved the mystery of the place and the misty, shrouded terrain made her feel oddly comfortable and at home. Perhaps it would no longer hold the same appeal after today's events, but for now, the young woman was happy and content as she slid through the foggy corridors and pathways.

Dusk was a wanderer by nature, her insatiable curiosity leading her to explore every nook and cranny of the ominous woods. She would often venture deep into the heart of the forest, where the gnarled trees seemed to reach out like skeletal fingers and the air was thick with an otherworldly presence. It was a place where legends spoke of specters lurking in the shadows, and Dusk reveled in the thrill of the unknown.

One fateful evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the woods began to transform into a realm of shadows, Dusk embarked on another expedition. Her lithe form moved gracefully through the underbrush, her sharp, fire opal eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of life. Little did she know that this night would be unlike any other.

As she prowled deeper into the woods, something shifted in the atmosphere. The dark fae's instincts told her that danger lurked nearby. It wasn't long before a pair of larger male wolves, their fur mottled with shades of gray and brown, emerged from the darkness, their eyes filled with malevolence. They had been stalking her, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Dusk was not one to back down from a fight. In an instant, she unfurled a deadly weapon from her tail, a cat-o'-nine-tails with sharp Carpathian steel lashes. With a menacing growl, she lunged at her assailants, the tails of her weapon slashing through the air like a lethal dance. The element of surprise had been on their side, but she recovered quickly. Dusk was built for this. Battle was in her blood. As they began to circle her, Dusk set her defenses and was ready, a guttural snarl ripping from the fae's chest as they attacked.

Blood poured from both parties. One of the brutes had gotten in a nasty bite that left Dusk's neck and shoulder torn and running red. The tension in the forest thickened, and just as Dusk was beginning to feel overwhelmed, the skies above turned black as pitch. It was as if the very gods were coming to her aid. Thunder rumbled ominously, and the first icy pellets of hail began to pelt down from the heavens.

The hard balls of ice struck with a vengeance, inflicting painful damage upon all three wolves. Distracted and disoriented by the sudden onslaught, the brutes faltered in their assault, giving Dusk the opportunity she needed. With a swift and deadly strike, she incapacitated one of her attackers, leaving him whimpering in agony. The other male, still reeling from the hailstorm, was no match for her ferocity. Dusk dispatched him with a lethal blow, her obsidian tails flashing like deadly daggers in the night. With one dead and the other trying to crawl away, Dusk limped after the living and soon sent him to join his companion in death.

The dark fae was victorious, but that victory came with a cost. Dusk was injured, her once-gleaming coat marred by blood and dirt. A deep, searing pain throbbed in her neck and shoulder where she had been viciously bitten. Despite the pain, she knew she had to find shelter before the storm intensified. Hail had shifted to rain and the water would only keep her wounds open and bleeding until she was too weak to continue onward.

With aching limbs, Dusk limped through the forest, her senses dulled by exhaustion. Finally, she found a massive, hollowed-out tree. It was a sanctuary, a temporary refuge from the tempest that raged outside. She crawled into the hollow, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The bottom of the hollow was littered with a thick, soft blanket of old leaves, for which Dusk was thankful. If she had to stay here until morning, it was better to be comfortable.

Inside the tree, Dusk's wounds throbbed, and her body trembled from the adrenaline and exhaustion. She curled up, her obsidian fur soaked with rain and blood. The storm outside raged on, a symphony of nature's fury, but Dusk was safe for now. The pain kept her awake for some time, but eventually exhaustion won out. Lids drifted closed, shielding fiery eyes and the young woman rested her shoulder and head against the side of the tree, careful not to compress her wounds. In the morning, she would assess her injuries and hopefully be able to make her way home. Perhaps it was from the pain, but Dusk suffered nightmares during her sleep. As she slept, soft whimpers escaped the fae's maw and her body twitched as though she was fighting off some unseen foe.

"Dusk Carpathius"