Joan was having a perfectly good time. No troubles to haunt her mind tonight, not one, and she was celebrating this small victory with a well-deserved drink. The Queen had been pushing her hard the past few months, as new missions and Deathly Ones arrived. Tonight, however, Joan got to spend her time enjoying herself, her sword finally free of the blood it had constantly been shedding since April.

A loud cheer echoed around the tavern, stirring Joan from a sleepy stupor to raise her mug and add to the noise with a cheer of her own, a slight smile gracing her lips. She couldn't help but glance at the doors, though, expecting someone or something bad to waltz right in and completely ruin her hopes of having a good time.

Well, her expectations became a reality, it seems.
A man, clad handsomely in a tailored, black suit, an eagle-head cane tucked under his palm, came striding into the tavern just a moment after a lively song began to rise in volume.
Joan stiffened immediately, rising to her feet, refusing to believe it. There was no way...

She reached out and snatched a nearby dancer; a sweaty, pathetic excuse for a man. "You tell me who just came through that door and perhaps your thick head will stay on your pungent body," she hissed, her fingers tightening into a fist around the damp fabric of his shirt, her other hand curling around her sword.

"I - I don't know, lady, I don't know, I swear, I swear!"
The drunken, panicked male tried his best to get away, but Joan far out-matched him in both strength and speed. His attempts got him nothing but a sword on his neck.

"Well, well, well, what have we here? Little baby Ann-ah throwing a little fit?"
His voice was mocking and sly. He knew exactly what he was saying, and exactly how it would affect the furious knight. "It's been a long time, my dearest."

Joan scowled and tossed the man aside, ignoring his cry of pain when his head smacked against a barstool.
"You shouldn't be here, Thomas. I suggest you leave," she said coldly, her sword raised slightly, prepared to strike.
"at least...before I make you."

Thomas put a fair hand to his chest, laughing warmly. "Oh, Anna, my sweet. We both know how much you've missed me."
In hardly a blink, he was right next to her, softly pushing down her sword, his fingers brushing over the smooth skin of her neck, his lips tickling her ear. Damn magic... He had an advantage that she didn't. He could use magic, but she was immune to it - which didn't make her any more powerful against him.

"Hey, mister! Leave the fiesty lass alone! She's proven her worth in this tavern!" A man yelled, thumping his walking stick on the ground.
In the second that it took for Thomas to snuff the life of that poor man, Joan slipped away, tossing a gold piece at the barkeeper before disappearing into the night.

"The whole thing. I come out with the mask, as usual, have some clever conversation, and then send him home! Right?" She turned eagerly to Richard, who had picked up an energy blaster and was now trying to point the giant thing at his own head.

"Sure, mistress," came his bored reply. They did this way too often, unfortunately. He once served a stubbornly brilliant, strong woman. But love had made her weak and desperate, turning to the ways of lovesick fools and hopeless romantics. Even if she didn't have such a horrible reputation for being the deathly playful type, the goblin doubted the hero would even glance in her direction.

Angelic features could only get her so far. The rest was basically just circumstance and personality, two things that the goblin had no hope for. At least, he had no idea how perfect she could be, but she never really let her real self show. For all he knew, she was concealing some sort of dark secret or something.

Anyways, speaking of angelic features - the woman did get pretty lucky with those. At 22 years of age, everything about her was elegant and beautiful. Flawless skin (except for the small tree tattoo she had on her left wrist), mismatched eyes (one a gray-blue color, the other a brilliant gold), silky black hair, and a voluptuous figure. And yet the hero never seemed to notice her - unless she was getting that dreadful 'get out of the dark side!' speech.

Raina felt like such a child all the time, though. Typical rebellion. Reaching in vain for love and attention, and when she didn't get any, she acted out and killed a few people or let a few elementals loose, something chaotic and fun to watch, of course!
But how else could she get the hero's attention - and win his heart? She certainly had no idea.

So this was her life now. Plotting destruction and injury for many, just catch a glimpse of him. He only ever saw her in either heavy, concealing makeup, or in a full-face mask....maybe...

Her eyes widened and she halted without warning, causing a goblin to collide into the wall in his haste to avoid her.
"What if I rescued him?" She declared aloud, clasping her hands eagerly. "From myself, basically? Or..." A little doodled-image filled her head. Raina + hero. Hero tied to a chair in a cell, scared and confused, captured by 'someone new'. Raina, her face clean and visible, 'picks the lock' of his cell and cuts the ropes away, freeing him. Many rom-com worthy moments later, along with a bit of staged battle to raise the tension...she has saved him, safely bringing him out of the dungeon and onto the surface.
The doodle story ended on the crude little stick figures making kissy faces at each other, of course.

"That's it!" She exclaimed, startling the poor goblin, who was trying to pick up the papers he had been carrying. Her eyes were sparkling with eagerness and passion - finally, a perfect idea! "He'll be mine then, surely!!"

Someone was crafty enough to hit her when she wasn't paying attention, striking a wound deep into her abdomen. Not nearly as bad as being punched through the gut, she thought with sick amusement, continuing on.
Her surroundings were too loud to hear the whispered curse. She had just blocked a spell, just turned around, but there were so many humans in front of her. So many disgusting, grimy bodi - oh.

The girl - the woman, the proud Hufflepuff who never stumbled or tripped...fell. Hard. Her fingers went loose, dead, limp, just like the rest of her.
Her snowy hair pooled around her shoulders, the blood-red tips mingling with the actual blood oozing from the cut across her stomach.
This was nothing like the journal. Why? Because there was no second chance.

Her eyes...of course, of course the Killing Curse had taken that light. Just moments ago, they had sparkled with the delight of succeeding. But now all her hope, all her worries, all her satisfaction and fear...it was gone. Empty. She really did look frightening like this, when there wasn't a glint of life to grace the bloody depths.

Her face was tilted into a smile, at least. She almost looked like she'd collapsed from laughing. Like life was humorous to her, and oh, oops! Laughed too hard, there went her soul. Haha.
But soon even that smile faded. Disappeared. Smothered by death.

And so she lay. In the very place that had given her life, her only home, she passed.
The most disappointing thing, surely, was that she didn't even die protecting anyone. There was no... reason. She would have been so, so frustrated if she could understand this.
'How dare they take me from such an opportunity to die a heroic death? Those bastards.'

Oh, but no. The once-brilliant Snowflake was nothing but a puddle of weakened limbs and silken, ripped fabric. Nothing.

If that gold ring turns to brass, Mama's going to buy you a looking glass..
Fast as a whip, she dropped, her fingers flattening as she raised her arm and flicked out her smallest, deadliest knife. Barely a heartbeat later, the knife was stabbed and twisted through the gut of the body. With a delighted laugh, she dragged the knife through muscles, tendons, organs. Blood oozed between her fingers. Oh, oh so warm...
If that glass begins to crack, Mama’s going to buy you a jumping jack..
She flicked her fingers, laughing harder as she watched the blood spray across the snow. Leaning over, she ripped a piece of dripping skin off the body and raised it above a clean patch of snow, trailing it around in a heart. And then she slammed the skin down on top of the heart, smearing it in a splatter of crimson. No one knew what she was capable of. All they saw was an innocent young lady. They mocked her and pressured her and ignored her when she spoke. They'd learn. She'd take them here, she'd take them all here, and when they had taken a nice long look at all the mangling she had done, they would die. In the most painful way possible, of course!
If that jumping jack is broke, Mama’s going to buy you a velvet cloak..
Unless she couldn't manage something fit for their proper little souls. Perhaps she ought to wrap her knives in silk? Murder them luxuriously? Why, that'd be excellent! Surely they wouldn't protest such a lovely death?
And if that velvet cloth is coarse..

Ha, who was she kidding? They didn't deserve that. No one did. They deserved to die alone. Listen to their loved ones scream their names, call for help. Watch as the world crumbled around them, starve, go blind, be slowly picked apart by rats. Any of it would do. And finally, when they begged for mercy, she would be there. There to slowly drag her knife down their parched throats. There to dig her heels into their ribs, listen to each delightful snap and scream of pain. There to carefully carve off fingers, toes, trace one sharp blade around the elbows and knees, watch blood swell along their collarbones...
Then burn.
What a delightful dream. Thoughtfully, she reached for the blood, cupping it in her hands. She bent her head, splashing her face with the scarlet liquid, before turning her face to the skies and slowly licking off what was on her lips. What would they say if she came home like this? Would they be scared? The sweetest little baby in town ain't so sweet anymore...
Well. It wouldn't be home for very long. Then again, when was it ever? This was why she was here. Why she wasn't in her room, studying obediently like a little lapdog. Slowly, she rose to her feet, rubbing her palms together, watching a few drops of blood fall from her eyelashes. With another childish giggle, she picked up her knife and skipped over the bodies, stepping on a few simply to hear the satisfying snap of bone. They would be frozen and covered soon. And then - oh, then...she'd do it all again.
Sleep, my darling, safe and sound.