• Clarisse was a beautiful woman.
    Undoubtedly the most beautiful in the village.
    Arguably the most beautiful in the kingdom.
    Clarisse was kind.
    Clarisse was virtuous.
    Clarisse was in danger.

    Chased!
    What had begun as a simple flower-picking errand for Clarisse’s mother had become a struggle for her life.
    Clarisse ran as fast as she could by the lake side, sapphire eyes gleaming with tears.
    She felt a rush of hope as she spotted the tower that marked the entrance of her village, and pushed with all she could to run faster.

    Suddenly she was knocked off her feet by a powerful force from behind, pushing the air out of her and strangling the scream she so desperately wanted to release.
    She fought and struggled beneath her captor, but to no avail. Soon, more hands grabbed at her, flipping her onto her stomach and pinning her.
    Men. Four men from her village, all of which she knew well. They were men she rejected many times, though as gently as she could.

    They laughed and taunted her as they tugged at her hair and clothing. Clarisse could smell the alcohol that much more, now that they were close.
    The men didn't stop there. They continued to pull away at her. Her clothes, her body, her mind, her soul...
    They defiled every part of Clarisse that evening, dragging it on until the sun set.

    “Too ugly for yeh, are we?” Asked Joseph angrily as the other men began to leave, pulling a small knife from his pocket.
    “Well, looks won't matter much if yeh can't see, now will they?”
    Clarisse screamed as he slashed her eyes, eternally blinding the once kind, pure, fair maiden.

    Laughter! All Clarisse could hear was laughter as she writhed in agony upon the grass.
    But soon, there was no longer laughing. It was... Screaming. Screaming that was not from her throat. Tearing, slashing, splatter! What was happening?!

    Silence. The screaming had ended. Only Clarisse’s sobs remained now. She gasped when she heard heavy steps. These steps were not that of a man, she knew.

    “Poor young maiden.” Cooed a strong, baritone voice. “I have watched you suffer for many hours from my perch upon the tower, trapped in stone. I shed tears for you, now that I am of flesh.”

    A frightened sob escaped Clarisse as scaly knuckles brushed her cheek.

    “Hush, now. I have avenged you, and now… I will protect you. Come with me, child, and no harm will ever befall you again.” Blood continued to fall from Clarisse’s gouged eyes, like crimson tears straight from her heart. Sniffling, she extended her hand out, and timidly began to feel out her newfound guardian. She managed to make out what she believed to be a face, flesh course in texture. Horns, as well.

    “Wh-...What are you?” She asked quietly, voice cracking.
    “I am an ancient protector of the night, and a spirit of the darkness. I am the Gargoyle that has guarded this tower for many decades. But I have been here so long, I'd forgotten what my purpose in this world was. Nary a night did I leave my post. But your suffering, dear maiden, has awakened me, and my sense of purpose.”

    Clarisse gasped as she was suddenly engulfed by a strange coldness, a darkness that weaved around her body, pulling tight into a lovely gown, one which Clarisse would never have the ability to admire.

    “Come with me, child. Join me in my quest, help me rid the world of foul creatures, man and mythic alike!” A darkness wormed it's way into the black spot that had been created in Clarisse’s heart that day, and it began to fester and grow.

    “Yes...” Clarisse breathed, standing. She reached out with unholy senses, snatching an abandoned rose from the ground. With a hiss of a foreign word from the Gargoyle, the rose began to die, petals shrivelling and blackening until they were nothing. The stem grew into a monstrous whip, a weapon of darkness.
    “Yes, I will help you! I will help you protect the innocent, save the weak... I will never be a victim again.”

    The Gargoyle chuckled darkly. “No. Never again.”

    Clarisse is a deadly woman.
    Undoubtedly the most feared legend in the village.
    Arguably the most feared in the kingdom.
    Clarisse is righteous.
    Clarisse is just.
    Clarisse is being deceived.

    The throats she mercilessly slashes as a self-proclaimed Avenger of the Night are not those of rapists, killers and liars, but those of innocent fathers, mothers and children. The Shadows silence screams of the pure, replacing them with the screams of the men who mangled her. Sightlessly she massacres, her death-whip aimed by the demonic Gargoyle who took her soul, who continues to manipulate her straight into the deepest bowels of Hell.