She was a woman of great beauty and terrible power, but she'd drunk the blood of so many victims over so many centuries that she had long forgotten her lost humanity.
Stepping casually over the victims of her latest slaughter, she walked regally into her bedchamber and gazed into the ornately carved mirror on the wall.
"Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall, Who Is the Fairest One of All?"
There was a soft whisper of sound behind her. Before she could turn, a wickedly curved blade sank in between her ribs.
"That would be me, bitch," Dean hissed into her ear.