Chapter 1
18th century France
The echoing of footsteps resounded through the dimly lit passageway of the catacombs under Paris, bones piled high on either side of a tall cloaked figure that seemed at home among the dead. The black cloak was crusty with blood and a hand reached out to brush blood splattered hair away from a stunningly beautiful face. Long blonde hair framed her face; layered to accentuate her high cheek bones and brush down along her strong jaw. Her mouth was pink and full, her nose feminine and her eyebrows perfect, but despite her apparent beauty no one would approach her, for her eyes shone silver; even in the darkness they appeared to be the colour of a freshly polished blade and promised just as much pain.
The footsteps finally came to a halt as she appeared before a large wooden door with spikes through it and skulls on either side. The woman wasn’t sure why she had bothered to decorate her door as such, at the time she had justified it by telling herself she wanted her privacy but truthfully no one came down into her lair. She pushed the large door open with little effort and summoned light to one of the torches on the wall in her home.
Her eyes darted across what would be termed a living room if she considered herself living; making sure everything was in place and no one had entered her home and sure enough everything was where she had left it. Her unused piano with a fine sheen of dust, sketches were scattered throughout and one wall was claimed by a wall to wall bookcase of books she’d already read or she had written. The cleanest space was her desk which had one book on it a quill and an ink pot.
Sighing in relief she walked to her bathing quarters which were unlike any other. An underground fresh water waterfall came crashing through cracks in the rock piece that was her roof and disappeared through more cracks in the floor, the water was frigid but that bone chilling cold appealed to her. She went to the corner of the room which held a large wooden chest which was filled with everything she needed to bathe and proceeded to wash away the night of terror she had just had.
She got dressed in a black night shirt which hung on her like the screams of her victims. She knew they had had to die, that they needed to be brought to justice but that didn’t mean she relished in it, she just tuned it out and did what needed to be done.
Punisher… the Voice was like a thought in her head that was not her own, yet was so familiar that it almost could’ve been.
What do you want? She thought in reply, knowing that it would hear her.
Well done on your mission, there is one less murderer out there because of you.
I am aware if that, thank you kindly for pointing out the obvious, came her disparaging reply.
Although the Voice was the closest thing to family she had it often annoyed her when it stated the obvious and it always chose the worst times to have a little ‘chat’.
Well there is no need to be like that, her mind registered the annoyance in those words.
I’m sorry, is there anything you need? She thought as she made her way through the winding passages toward her bed chamber.
Not immediately, today you may rest, but come nightfall you must be ready to expect the unexpected.
Are you retarded, if I’m expecting it its hardly unexpected! she attempted to yell through the mind link, self-control finally snapping, but could tell she was too late, it was already severed.
