Frigid, orange, and cloudless. The moon rich nights are growing longer as fall wanes to winter. She always loved fall despite her disdain for the cold. The harvest festivals and the colors were the few times she really invested in the community and looked happy. That's over now, though.
"Please! Someone! Help me!", a man shouts scrambling down an alley knocking over and tossing debris behind him. He bangs on every other door, but each door gives no response. Silence is his only answer. No one peers out; no one curious. Is it fear or shame that the man has been left condemned? The man tumbles forward with an emerald green arrow protruding from his left shoulder blade. Moaning on the ground, the arrow dissolves. The surrounding skin and cloth burn away with a sizzling hiss.
"you know, my mother always loved this time of the year."
A lone man steps through the debris filled alley brandishing an obsidian blade in one hand at the low ready. A black-reddish gloom emanates from the blade like liquid fire. His padded boots make no sound on the cobblestone as he steps ever closer. "It seems villains like yourself only have courage when their opponent is defenseless and trapped. Nothing like her stories. Those were real villains." He strikes the whimpering man in the stomach with his boot.
"Please! I don't know what you're talking about! I didn't do anything!" the man shrieks.
"Every one of you has said the exact same thing." He grabs the other man by the scruff and throws him up against the wall. "Unfortunately for you she doesn't believe you." The blade pulses malevolently and he swings.
The lone man stares up at the cloudless sky.