Lazily lifting her head from her pillow she stares at the electric alarm clock till her eyes focussed on the red flashing. 12:00 AM. She groans and slides her feet off the edge of the bed onto the plush carpet covering the oak floor. Sitting up hunched over her knees she sighs and straightens up with a yawn.

Nightshift… as usual. Grumbling she stretches out her arm to grab her cloak as she rises from the warm and tempting clutches of dreamland. She slips the cloak over her bare shoulders, the porcelain of her skin in stark contrast to the deep midnight blue so deep that for many years, no, centuries, it has been mistaken for black.

She flung open a set of double oak doors, flicked a switch and two by two, as animals into the ark, the eight sets of handmade crystal chandeliers sparked to life, illuminating the lenthy corridor lined floor to ceiling, row upon row with items of clothing for the extent of the first foursets of chandeliers. Clothing arranged by era, some even dating back to years long forgotten. Following the clothes were shelves of accessories to match every outfit and then shelf upon shelf of shoes one of her few weaknesses, her other weakness lined the remaining walls that lead up to the second set of oak doors that lead into the hallway. She called them her "partners" though they clearly weren't all even as her favouritism was quite obvious as in the middle of the floor stood a display case. The base of the case lined with a deep red velvet, the same as which lined her cloak. Velvet so red that it appeared to be the life sustaining liquid itself; Blood…

She always had the strangest ritual getting dressed, cloak first when she rose from her bed and then everything else followed, underwear, skirt/pants/dress depending on which mood took her, then her shirt, she'd always have to shed her cloak in order to slip it on but it never occurred to her that this may be a bother and that there was an easier way. Perhaps it was just force of habit, concreted by years of routine or perhaps it was because the sensation of the scarlet velvet lining against her skin was the closest she got to any form of intimacy…

Finally she stood before a wall of shoes the grandfather clock in the entrance hall gave on loud toll. 12:30 AM. She picked a pain of black leather boots and buckeled them up to her knee. Slipping the hood of her cloak over her head she approached the display case, first taking in the way the light danced off the polished metal of all the other weapons lining the remaining walls leading to the exit of her dressing chamber…

"Now, my lovelies, we all know what the task at hand is, and yes, I know you have all been dying," she giggled "to get out of here." She opened the display case and thought she could actually hear the excitement. "But, well all know and understand that each mission calls for something different and that each of you have your speciality…" She could have sworn there was a deafening buzz in the air, as iff every spec of reflected light had turned into a set of honey bee wings. She wrapped he hand around the solid polished wood, the buzzing stopped, she had made her decision. She lifted he scythe, it was lighter than it looked or perhaps she was stronger for having caried it so long. "Good night my pretties."

The double doors swung open and she walked into the moonlit hall, darker than usual as the moon was merely a slither, a smile, like that of a cheshire cat hung neatly in the center of a pitch black sky.