𝐴𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑠 𐂂 𝐺𝑟𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒

𝐹𝑂𝑈𝑅

Ketterdam was quiet that night, the only sound the soft fall of the steady rain and the hushed scurry of street rats against cobblestone. It was quiet, almost peaceful. But that was dangerous, for Ketterdam was never peaceful, and anyone that thought that all the evil had suddenly dissipated away, even for a few moments, was a fool.

The Butcher of the Barrel never particularly liked the quiet. She wasn't like the Wraith, noiseless and stealthy. No, she wanted her enemies to know when she was coming.

The Butcher's cape flew behind her in a flurry, her Salakot hat tightly secured on her head. She rushed over rooftops, jumping, crawling, sprinting, lunging, doing whatever it took to get to her destination. Her katana's were strapped on her back in a X formation. That only meant one thing. Tonight, the Butcher wasn't out for a kill.

No, she was only scouting, and never planned to strike. The Butcher had only been in town for two weeks, but many have learned what her presence meant. To hide, to run, to escape from her line of sight. Unless you want to become her next piece of meat.

After ten minutes of playing spy, The Butcher decided she had had enough. She swiftly climbed down the backside of a house, and made her way down an alleyway. It was dark, cold, and lonely, everything she despised. When she burst out of the alley, she almost cried out to saints she didn't believe in.

From there, it didn't take long to spot her destination. The Crow Club. She had visited one other time, but never managed to
work up the courage to go in there and face her past. To face her pain.

The Butcher paced back and forth around the building for thirty minutes, contemplating her next move. If she went in, everything would change. If she didn't, she'd be stuck in her never-ending cycle of what if's.

So, with a deep breath, The Butcher strutted towards the door confidently and swung them open. The first thing she noticed was how unpleasant it was, with the throngs of people gathered around poker tables, and the overpowering stench of alcohol and must.

She scrunched her nose and pressed forward through the crowds. The Butcher made sure to keep her head down, she wasn't trying to scare anyone. A few anxious faces looked her way, realized who she was, and swiftly retreated into shadowy corners. She sighed. There was no escaping the reputation she had made for herself in just half a month's time.

She hadn't meant to be so brutal with her kills, but she couldn't help it. The Butcher earned her name, the body parts of her victims were never found in one place, unless she intended it to be that way. Although, she knew her tactic of killing wasn't the scariest thing about her. It was how she was shrouded in mystery. The Butcher left people wondering where she came from, why she was there, and when she would go. Including the occasional fear if they'd be next. After all, no one in Ketterdam is innocent, the list of crimes is infinite.

After everyone in the Crow Club had recognized her, the atmosphere changed in a heartbeat. Some abruptly filed out, some were paralyzed in shock, and some (the stupid ones) laughed out loud at the audacity. No matter the reaction, one thing was the same, they were all absolutely terrified.

The Butcher made her first move. Loud intakes of breath filled the room. She smiled and slipped off her cloak, hanging it on the bar stool beside the one she was going to sit in.

Her second move. Gasps of terror. The Butcher's teeth, which some swore resembled knives, flashed as her grin broadened. The Bartender was practically shaking, the room was buzzing with electricity.

The Butcher rose her hand in the air, someone screamed. "Well, aren't you going to ask what I'd like to drink?"

The Bartender gulped. "W-what, I don't-"