In the inner garden of the exquisite mansion, a crimson-haired girl stood over the lifeless corpse of the cloaked mercenary. The entire group of mercenaries was eliminated in approximately three minutes after their first contact with the intruder. It was a massacre of untold proportions.
The breeze gently shifted the strands of her rose-dyed hair. Her pale complexion reflected the silver moonlight that illuminated the entire night sky. Her irises resembled an untouched ruby, gleaming with intrinsic ferocity and grace.
Scarlet-tint of bloodstains smeared across her limbs, dripping from each of her pale and soft fingers. They weren't the branches of a beautiful tree, but thorns protruding and piercing those that dared to confront it.
'The scent of blood...' Hecate had been containing her thirst for blood, shackling it to the depths of her heart. She felt like a starving woman refraining from eating at a buffet. It was terrible for her psyche.
