By Kali

She had the strong face of a noble warrior; the voice of the sweetest lark that ever drew breath; and her body was a leaf dancing in the wind. The sight of her slim figure twirling in the dusk was a common one at any tavern along the Troubadour Route; and a sight that had earned her the names Star, and Green Angel. But if she was a star, she was a comet, and if an angel then a fallen one, for the blood that coursed through her veins was as black as night; the heart that beat in her breast was as hard as stone; the eyes that shone in her face were as cold as ice, and the soul that whispered through her dancing was as merciless as death. She was night; stone; ice; death. A bitter fallen angel who sought only vengeance on her Master: This was the dark star, the emerald leaf that danced as it died.

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