She stood straight and still. The winter’s wind pulling on her long red hair, shifting her dress around her legs, trying to push her down. But she stayed true. She faced death head on, unafraid of his darkness, his shroud or his scythe; took no notice of the unkindness of ravens he sent forth to collect souls. He stood menacingly, holding his black book open. But she knew the book of the dead intimately. Read cover to cover. Death had been wrong and she knew it. She would find the one Raven that possessed her soul… and set him free.
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