Scarlet Haze (Working Title)(Prologue)

A single crow swooped past the young girl, her glassy black eyes following its movements with the bored interest of a hawk watching a mouse. Her hair, so black it almost looked blue, lifted for a second in the wind, like a silky curtain, then fell to frame her face again. Her face was ashen-white, sharp and angular, her cheekbones high and graceful. Although there was a sharply cold wind whistling around her, it didn't seem to bother her, although she only wore thin black hoodie over a pair of black jeans and trainers. 1

She was sat at the edge of the roof, balancing herself between a stone gargoyle, and a stone fleur-du-lis. The crow swooped a few more times, before landing just a few metres away from her on the tiled roof. The crow cocked its head sharply, surveying her with its small, beady eye. The girl simply stared back at it, as though trying to stare it out.2

The crow hopped forwards a few centimetres, glaring at her, as though it didn't quite trust her. Leaning its head back, it let out a sharp caw, piercing the cold silence. The girl cocked her head, in imitation of the crow, her eyes still blank and completely night-coloured.3

The crow stared at her as though disappointed in her, and blinked, once, as though unbelieving of what he could see. The girl grinned, but it lacked warmth, or indeed any emotion. She held her hand out to the crow, inviting it to come closer. Her hand was as white as the rest of her, sharp and bony. 4

The crow bravely hopped forwards a little more, perhaps more surprised than anything. It looked at the girl again, a little unsure. She cawed back at it, imitating the crow's earlier cry. Her voice was strange and icy, echoing in the stony surroundings of her seat.  5

Holding out her hand still further, the girl looked imploringly at the crow, her eyes emotionless and dark.6

Eventually, the crow came just within her reach.7

Quicker than the crow would ever have seen, the girl grabbed the crow, squeezing it in her clawed grip. Joyfully, she cackled loudly, as the crow screeched and pecked at her hand in panic. The crow began to get more frantic, struggling out of her grip. Oily black and brown feather began to scatter on the ground.8

The girl smiled manically at the poor bird, about to meet its fate. She hissed at it, stunning it into silence for a second, and then brought it to her lips. She sank her sharp canines in, ripping a strip of its flesh away, the blood soaking her chin, dripping down into her lap. As the bird screamed its last dying cries, the girl slurped noisily at the bird's neck, the blood gurgling and bubbling near her lips. 9

Eventually she looked up, dropping the bird's body callously to the floor. It limply fell, bouncing off the stone gargoyle, and disappearing to the ground below. She wiped off her mouth with the back of her hand, scarlet smearing across her face, a sharp contrast with her opaque, jet-coloured eyes. 10

She began lapping the glittering liquid off the back of her hand, almost like a cat lapping cream. The girl looked down for a second, no emotion ever crossing her face. Throwing her head back, she let one single, loud caw out, mimicking the crow, even in death. 11

The killer settled back into her stone seat, leaning back against the mossy tiles....