She lays on a bed of bloody roses; after all, what can be more beautiful than flowers? The girl says something different. Petals wilting, blackening at the edges, crumbling to dust...the inexorable process of decay. The night air is cool, almost sterile in its freshness but underneath it lies the moist, squalid seduction of rot.

The girl, all moonlight-pale skin and midnight hair, inhales deeply, reveling in the sickly sweet scent that hangs like a shroud in the air, overwhelming her senses with each intake of breath.

A strange half-smile comes over her face, though her eyes remain closed, lashes casting spiky shadows down her colourless cheeks. She chuckles, but the tinkling sound contains no mirth. It is humourless, reverberating with a barely contained malice that echoes through the forest. She clutches a stray rose, slowly bringing it up to her nose. When she opens her fist, the blossom falling from her grip, her hand is stained red.

She is up and moving by five the next morning, her ascent marked by every branch she leaps from. The sky is the color of eggshells, bright with pre-dawn light. The luminosity does not surprise her; darkest before the dawn is an old adage, old and erroneous. Her full lips quirk upward slightly. Foolish primates,she thinks and suddenly her speed increases and she's moving faster than the eye can see. She's silent, not even the characteristic swoosh of rustling clothing as a testament to movement.

Her master will be waiting for her, but he is a patient man or serpent or demon. Biding his time is what made him what he is today, a person to be feared and respected. Her thoughts flit briefly to her masters face, ashen and gaunt, all hollowed cheeks and gleaming yellow eyes, little more than a skull, really, and she laughs aloud at the sudden notion of calling him Gisugisu-sama.

Violet hair whipping around in ghostly tendrils behind her, the girl leaps down from her perch. She is but a few yards away from the compound now, and can afford to walk rather than jump from tree to tree.

A bird twitters behind her and more out of habit than annoyance, she throws a kunai at it, striking the bird in mid-flight, all whilst staring straight ahead. Such gifted hands, her master had said upon finding her as a small child. So many of them and so far they extend...Tell me, hime, how far do you wish to reach? She raises a hand to touch one of the bony protrusions extending from her skull, a demented smile on her face. Gifted hands indeed.