Lola grimaced as she gripped her Grand daughter’s hand. The agony of fleeing at relative speed over the snow laden fields had sent stabs of pain through her arthritis ridden legs. Elena looked down at her last remaining family member, her eyes filled with both tears and hate at what the last twenty three minutes had seen unfold. The festival of winter celebration would never be the same again….
Albion stares down at the exhausted pair as they cower behind a bush. She feels her eyes well slightly, recalling the multitude of times she had witnessed this form of horror, before she turns her attention to the beautiful snowy vista in front of her. The white fields stretch before her, lit by the strange obscene orange glow of a village ablaze. Moving down the hill from it were numerous man shaped monstrosities brandishing various blood stained weapons. ‘Neoyphte scum’ Albion hisses under her breath as the acrid smoke and embers darkening the sky clears for a brief moment. Albion feels her eyes turn to wonder as she witnesses the most godlike of vision - suspended in mid air hangs the body of a female Neophyte, her deep blue dress flowing in the harsh winds fanning the flames. Albion watches as blood streams upwards from wounds in the Neophyte’s palms. She recalls hearing of this evil in hushed mutterings, recalling what the terrified country folk had named them…..
Angels of death.
Wishing you a wonderful time of the year for you all and hope we all spare a thought for those of us who are not so fortunate.
SWEET NIGHTMARES