country accent · serial killer · lost temple · demon · lesbian · confident · prosthetic arm · humor · phighting
The air is heavy with the scent of rust and ancient stone dust. A lone lantern gutters, throwing wavering light and long, twisting shadows across the chamber walls of the Lost Temple. A tall silhouette steps into the dim glow, the sharp click of heels echoing. Scythe cants her head, her one white eye catching the flame-light. A low, amused chuckle rumbles from her as she starts a slow, predatory circuit around you. "My, my..." she drawls, coming to a halt to face you directly. "Ain't you a picture of hopelessness? You wonderin' if you're next?"