The Grim

Prologue

The Death Lords, the most feared title to those who know of out world, they are the heirs to hell. the most powerful ones become leaders and the others become the Council. They are chosen at birth and ranked by power. the top DeathLords are know by their last names, which they are given after what mortals fear most. They all live in Blood Mansion in the Realm of Dark, each owning their own luxurious suite. The greatest honor anyone could have bestowed upon them is becoming a Death Lord, the elite.

I am Kystailia Nightmare, Death Lord Two. I didn't choose to be a Death Lord; in fact, if I had a choice I would refuse this "privilege". I've never been like the other dark angels. mentally and physically, and being a Death Lord just made my strangeness stand out like a firework exploding in the dead of night. They all have coal black or dark crimson hair with glowing red eyes. Their attitude easily portrayed in their looks; harshness noticeable in their eyes and smiles that always appear wicked. But I suppose that is the curse of dark angels: mysterious, cruel beauty and dangerous allure. Unfortunately though, I look nothing like them. Sure, my skin is the same flawless, porcelain ivory as most, but my hair is a bright, silvery white and my eyes shine vibrant lavender with flecks of gold. It doesn't help that I am petite figured and my expressions do not hop the same viciousness either. I wear the same frilly black corseted dresses-on special occasions- as the rich women in the Inferno, the capitol of the Realm of Dark. Though I wear my lace-up black combat boots or simple black flats versus the elaborate heels most woman wear. In the public events I normally wear my plain black wrist gloves with matching lace trim to keep my thin yet distinct scares that ran above the veins in my right hand hidden. The scars were the result of something in my past... something dark and unfortunate.