• The crescent moon glowed with blinding beauty, in the night that spoke of bloodshed. Dashing through the woods Alichia wept; the only that knew of horror and gore that lie ahead. Tears glimmered away and hit the ground as she ran. Eyes closed not daring to look back she ran, and ran, and ran, Her silver hair flowwing in the wind like a curtain when you open the windows wide, and only one red lock that slightly outlined her face, shining none but a sliver. Eyelashes long and groomed like a pamperd yorkie's fur, never madded, a tattoo on her left shoulder with a big but fine swirl that went down and formed into three curled points, pointing tword her shoulerblade;which glowed an eerie blue as the moon was slowly in the process of being currupted by the same eerie depressing glower that spoke of blood. Fearstricken, running, her flouresent silver shoes bearing with breaking heels, peeling fabric, the right, falling of as she stumbled over thick fallen wood. Not daring herself in a lifetime to look back and pick it up. Never. Scorn for life by their murderers' to be she absolutly loved them, the elves.--