They say she appears on the blackest nights, when innocent blood is shed.

She descends from the sky, shrouded in a flock of crows. Her body is completely cloaked save glimpses of piercing red eyes. The crows around her scatter, revealing a black robe, a hooded figure. A dark crop of hair sits under the woman's hood, further hiding her pale face. Her lips are straight, unsmiling, said to be glossed in the blood of those she condemns.

The crows hover above their master, their eyes glowing bright red. They begin cawing the names of the victims the man killed in a chant that starts out low, rising as Lady Crow approaches. Covering his ears won't help him; the names grow louder inside his head. He finds his own screams inaudible. Only the crows, he hears.

A sword slides from under one of Lady Crow's sleeves, bathed in moonlight, its grip in her pale palm. She points the steel at the man. The notion silences the crows' chants. They flock around the man in a storm.

"You shall die here and now," murmurs the young woman serenely.

Before he has a chance to move or speak the sword passes through his heart, then out.

The dark mass of birds swallow their lady and the man in a black ocean of feathers that ascends into the stars. No traces of them, no blood or feathers, are found - or will be. No one knows where she goes, but they know this: she will be back. A crow always comes back to feast.