It began as a whisper of a whisper.
Disbelief shrouded thought, memory is fallible.
No remembers when, for it - she - has always been.
A moral for the misfits. A consequence for those who've angered those in power.
No hero cloaked in darkness, no shredded soul wishing for redemption.
A price is met, a contract signed.
Deaths executed like poetry, on time with stipulations if any would be met, in public.
On the hour every hour. By natural causes, by accident or obvious assassination.


She can't be real. No one, nothing can do that! Years and years! No way. There has to be a trick.
So you're sayin' she's real?
Course. But-
But what?
...It's just a name. Someone take it up when the other one retires and-
What if it's not though...?


Honour binds contracts
Moonlight leaves crescents of red
Myth, the Silhouette


"Fuck, did ya hear?"
"Hear what?"
"Valdez is dead."
"Shit. How?"
"You ain't gonna believe me..."