Shadows gathered from the corners of the alley, drawing together into a tight cloak about the man's shoulders, draping down in wispy tendrils that curled about our legs. The summer sun darkened, growing distant and cold, the very air itself holding its breath.
"You're as beautiful as they say," the man murmured, eyes running over my body, lingering particularly on my gentle curves.
I shivered, drawing my cloak tight about me, letting out a soft whimper as the fabric dragged over the lacerations in my flesh. Most of my wounds had scabbed over, leaving my raw flesh sticky with dried blood.
"Who are you?" I asked, eyeing him warily. Although he had helped me, no one with pure intent would so blatantly leer at someone so weak and hurt.
Finally tearing his eyes off my body, he met my eyes and pondered the question. I fidgeted, gripping the hem of my cloak, afraid he wouldn't answer, until finally, he opened his mouth.
