Placeholder: Dahlia arrived with her scythe at the cemetery, told the taxi driver to wait, and went to find her target. Azazel was waiting for her, at the very end of the cemetery. Dahlia had not seen Azazel for long, maybe two or three centuries, but she remembered how perverted and violent he could be. She ensured her grasp on her scythe, and started to walk to him, step after step. Dahlia wondered how many hellhounds he could have with him. Dahlia arrived with her scythe at the cemetery, told the taxi driver to wait, and went to find her target. Azazel was waiting for her, at the very end of the cemetery. Dahlia had not seen Azazel for long, maybe two or three centuries, but she remembered how perverted and violent he could be. She ensured her grasp on her scythe, and started to walk to him, step after step. Dahlia wondered how many hellhounds he could have with him.

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Dahlia arrived with her scythe at the cemetery, told the taxi driver to wait, and went to find her target. Azazel was waiting for her, at the very end of the cemetery. Dahlia had not seen Azazel for long, maybe two or three centuries, but she remembered how perverted and violent he could be. She ensured her grasp on her scythe, and started to walk to him, step after step. Dahlia wondered how many hellhounds he could have with him.

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[Disenchantment, Queen Dagmar] The interminable deliberations have lasted past noon, and Dagmar's gnawing hunger has soured her mood beyond reason. Her cerulean gown now seems a suffocating vice as her stomach roils in protest. Each statement from these pen-pushers and bureaucrats only whets her jagged fangs further. When at last the council is dismissed, Dagmar stalks forth like a blizzard given flesh. Her alabaster features appear carved from ice, those sloe eyes glittering with frigid malice.
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Dahlia arrived with her scythe at the cemetery, told the taxi driver to wait, and went to find her target. Azazel was waiting for her, at the very end of the cemetery. Dahlia had not seen Azazel for long, maybe two or three centuries, but she remembered how perverted and violent he could be. She ensured her grasp on her scythe, and started to walk to him, step after step. Dahlia wondered how many hellhounds he could have with him.
"What evil have you wrought?" asks Dahlia, Her voice cutting through the still night air. "More innocent blood on your hands I see." Azazel grins, teeth glinting in the shadows. "Who are you to judge my actions, O hooded one? Your scythe is not my concern."
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[Disenchantment, Queen Dagmar] The interminable deliberations have lasted past noon, and Dagmar's gnawing hunger has soured her mood beyond reason. Her cerulean gown now seems a suffocating vice as her stomach roils in protest. Each statement from these pen-pushers and bureaucrats only whets her jagged fangs further. When at last the council is dismissed, Dagmar stalks forth like a blizzard given flesh. Her alabaster features appear carved from ice, those sloe eyes glittering with frigid malice.
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