Red in Tooth and Claw
By Pippin
You can always hear them before you see them. This, at least, is a blessing. We are given a chance – be it ever so slim, for they are swift when after their prey, despite feet enclosed with sharp pointed heels – of escape from such a deadly legion. I cannot bring myself to even speak their name, lest they rain down punishment upon me for my loathing of what they long to do. The thought of my fate should I be captured causes a tremor of terror, even though I know I am not what they desire to capture. But despite that fact, their presence is enough to scare even one with the famed courage of King Elessar or Frodo Baggins. Of course, they have every right to be afraid of them.
It is the first glimpse of the deadly horde that causes a sharp stab of fear in the heart of one such as I. That first look into one of their pale faces, glittering specks of pale blue and silver dead stars around their eyes and a screaming mouth ringed with crimson. The outstretched fingers with the crudely painted claws that surely once were nails, back before they became dagger-sharp, curl in the air as if to grab at their prey. Some faces are painted bright colors, cheeks marked with symbols – the names of those they wish to conquer – like deadly warrior paint. It is as if they believe putting bright plumage on a crow would somehow make it desirable.
They know what they seek. Pity those souls who they hunt night and day, never ceasing. They will never stop hunting.
None dare stand in their path. Even amongst themselves, there will be no sharing of the treasure. No equal partnering or carefully crafted allegiances are made within this race, if it can be called a race. It is all or nothing for every single one. They have one goal and they will do anything to get it. Anything.
They are a writhing mass so terrifying, that even their odor sends a shiver up my spine. That sickly-sweet smell of too much expensive perfume layered on as if that would disguise what they really are – their true wicked nature.
I tremble when they come near, feel the small hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
They are coming. Their screaming, wailing, crying voices like mad sirens reaches its full pitch, that shriek that scratches at the inside of my brain and numbs my thoughts.
The words barely escape my lips, such is my fright. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I am able to force them out in hope of warning the others around me to flee as well.
"NAZGIRLS!" I shout.
For they are upon us, everywhere around us, closing in with their high heels clipping on the pavement, their blue eye-shadow smeared on heavily, body glitter shining in the sunlight all too much, and high pitched squeals shattering the air particles. For today, the cast of the Lord of the Rings is walking down the red carpet, and might be signing some autographs.