She was in some sort of town. It was decrepit, abandoned, derelict. The road was gravel and snow had fallen. There was a smell of death in the air, figuratively and literally. The rancid smell of rotting flesh was drifting through the air. The sound of crows echoed through the town, Death's calling card. . . A derelict village nestled behind fog, a sinister figure, a child of fate, an elysian.