Prolgue

It was as if she just knew. Like it was an instinct; the call, the plea, for help.

Then she would come.

No one had a proper name for her…she went by many. The Protector, The Good Shadow, The Black Bitch…but no – one could ever agree on one. After all, it seemed like they had all been used.

As traditional heroines did, she dressed in black leather, her coat long and warm, much more to do with keeping her from freezing her tight little ass off, rather then looking cool. Her high heeled boots would echo in the fog, alerting people of her close proximity. Her long brown hair was always tied back, in a tight ponytail, her curls rippling down her back.

She wore a black mask that covered her eyes….keeping up with the whole secret identity thing. As they do.

Like many Superheroes, her real identity was not known, not revealed, to any…not even her friends or family. As it had been for the past twenty – one Centuries, unbeknown to her, as a family tradition.

During those years, some considered it a curse. Others considered it a privilege. Some were torn, some simply refused to accept, and died an earlier death then they were destined to.

She simply considered it a part of life: an adventure, perhaps. A challenge. Because it was only at night that she felt wanted. Needed.

Desired.