First attempt at writing in 2nd person - constructive crit appreciated.

It is said that dark things stalk the night

Most would dismiss them as rubbish, stories to scare little childen.

But there are those who still believe. The old families. Those whose blood runs pure.

Magic is not a myth. Dark things really do stalk the night.

You know that. You believe.

You shiver as you stand on a street corner, hands tucked into the pockets of your leather trenchcoat in a vain attempt to keep warm.

Leaves swirl down the road in a gust of chill wind, shaken from their branches. Even the trees here look miserable.

At least it isn't raining. Yet. The dark clouds you can see hanging above your head don't look too promising.

You sigh as you shiver again, a clatter makes you turn, hand already reaching for your wand, but it is nothing more than rubbish skidding down an alley.

Even so you can feel the tingle of magic, a sense of foreboding.

Something bad will happen tonight.

You can feel it.

The rubbish moves again as the wind picks up, an old can clattering against the old stone walls. But you still jump.

You aren't afraid. But nevertheless your hand curls around the worn leather grip of your wand. No, you aren't afraid.

A strong gust of wind makes you hunch your shoulders as it brings the first raindrops.

A thud from the alley again, you ignore it, huddling into your coat as the light raindrops turn into a torrent of water.

Another crash from the alley, this time with no wind to move anything.

You freeze, tense, as water runs in rivulets down your face, plastering your long hair in front of your eyes.

A touch of magic. Stronger. Your hand tightens on your wand as you turn bringing it up before you to light the alley.

You step back with an indrawn breath as two glowing eyes stare at you in surprise.

The beast snarls at you, its black fur ruffled in the storm, as it turns its attention away from the rubbish it had been picking through.

You shudder as it moves away, fading into the wind and rain like a ghost.

How many times had you joked about what you would do if you met a beast like that?

Too many times.

But that was no joke. You remember the old tales. You know what that its appearance means.

You just wish you didn't.

Grimm. Herald of Death.

Something bad has happened tonight.

It's not just a feeling now. You know. Magic wouldn't lie.

You are moving before you realise it. You know what has happened, what must have happened.

You know where you are going.

You shouldn't.

You throw a leg over your motorbike and start the engine as you flip wet hair out of your face.

You don't want to know what has happened.

But you have to.