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The ground is a dirty murk, a wet mud from the lack of opening from above. The snow has fallen and yet only drips of water have been able to squeeze past the tree tops to moisturize the earth. Below resides an angel, the glow from her all too white coat almost perfectly contrasted against the mud brown of the woodland floor. She looks far too fair to be in such a place but there is a dedication to her movements, a tactic to the silently graceful way she walks. It is to be unheard for those who dwell in space could spot such a maiden. Slender snout lowers as she inhales the murk below gently, tracing the scent of the murderer that was the very reason she resides her. Encora would not be graced with such a presence if her very father had not been here merely days earlier. The tracker was only a few days behind him, his scent all over the place, and determined to catch up. The lack of sleep does not show through her beautiful features but it is there.
She is almost deranged, this one. So addicted to the thought of victorious revenge that her own needs are not being looked after. To the regular eye though, with that thick luxurious coat and those gentle eyes, she may appear in her prime of health. This is not the case, for a mask is what she wears this day. She is sick, so very ill within the fabrics of her self-conscious. Years of tormented dreams and sickening memories causing such a disease to form within her. The thought of killing the killer is what sustains her life, it is craved more than food itself. Though when food does arrive, she is not one to waste. Movement causes the belle to shift her oceanic pools to the left. Those golden flecked eyes locking onto a small form within the murky bushes. Ears perk slightly before she inhales deeply; a hare. Stomach growls lightly and her lips curl back to reveal more than beautiful daggers, they reveal the true side of Z.
She launches, in one swift, graceful movement she charges into the bush. Powerful jaws wrap around the hare and before it has a chance to squeal in terror she twists her head sharply, hearing the satisfying snap of its neck. For a moment, she breathes with the hare in her mouth, allowing herself time to calm down and place that glorious mask back on once more before finally stepping out of the brush with her meal. She lowers the dead thing onto the muddy ground, tongue sliding out to casually lick her pale lips before the small feast begins rapidly. When one is on a mission, they can only take so much time to fill their own desires.
"hear my confession"
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