The sun was beginning to set below the Fontaine City skyline, giving the impression that the city had erupted into red and orange flames. Cassander sat in the belfry of his home, watching the city burn.
"I'm hungry." He stated bemusedly to himself.
Morgan was starting home from her night class at Saint Benedict's, and the inferno had long since consumed itself, leaving only the incandescent embers of the stars. She peered sadly into the night, and imagined the stars extinguishing themselves, one by one.
When they were alive, her parents would tell her that the angels lived on stars.
"There are no angels." she hissed angrily at the sky. And if there were, they're all dead now, she thought to herself.
She didn't even notice the young man following her down the sun-forsaken street. Cassander did, however.
A sharp crack split the night, and Morgan turned to see a flash of crimson stain the snow. The face of the teen boy standing behind her was locked in abject terror, and agony spread across his brow. As he tried to cry out, he was pulled into the shadows. Morgan fell to the ground as a hoarse gurgle tore from the boys throat. She began to rock back and forth, and crying in an attempt to drown out the pitiful noise. Something hit her leg. She looked down and saw a hand, rent from the arm at the wrist. She bent double, her face slamming the ground as her stomach wrenched, and hot vomit streamed from her mouth.
As she rolled on her side, a figure stepped from the dark, and stooped himself. A cold hand stroked her face.
"Poor angel." The voice was like music. She looked up to face him.
She would have screamed, but her throat burned like she had swallowed broken glass. The man's lips were covered in blood, which ran down his neck and drenched the white shirt and black tie he wore. His icy blue eyes held an air of contentedness, and the long blond bangs that escaped the ponytail he wore whipped in the wind. He merely shook his head, and left her laying in the snow.
After what seemed like hours, Morgan pulled herself into a bench, her red pigtails still soaked from laying on the ground, and her emerald eyes still frantic with fear. A voice sliced the stillness.
"Are you alright?"
As Morgan turned to face the sound, she heard a rustling behind her. Cassander was already there. Morgan stumbled from the bench, her eyes wide with terror.
"Come with me." Cassander said, and lifted her to her feet.
Morgan tried to pull away, but her wrists were held firmly. Cassander laughed at her meager defense, the same way a man laughs at a struggling puppy.
"If I meant to kill you, don't you think I would have done so already? For that matter, if I were to change my mind, what do you believe you could do? Just come along."
He was right, of coarse. She stopped fighting, as though the words were specifically aimed to calm her. As she followed behind him, he released her right hand, and gave her a reassuring glance. "It'll be fine."
As the snow began to fall anew, the two walked into the shadows, and into what else, Morgan had no idea.