Under the cover of night, the world transformed into a dreamscape of muted beauty. Like a velvet cloak, it swallowed the landscape, soaking it with a chasm of dimness waiting to be fed. The distant twinkle of stars and a crescent moon cast a pale glow upon the snow, illuminating the path ahead as if nature itself conspired to assist her clandestine pursuit.

Iliana exhaled quietly, grateful for the inky darkness that concealed her body as she moved with purpose through the shadowy woods. Clad in dark clothing that blended seamlessly with the night, she advanced with feline grace, each step calculated to make the least possible sound.

Her eyes, filled with a steely resolve, scanned the surroundings with an intensity that nearly set the world ablaze. They flitted over every object in sight, ensuring she remained alert and approached with caution. Iliana's focus remained unbroken, her senses attuned to every move and every noise.

The trees, now looming overhead like silent witnesses, cast elongated shadows that danced across the barren lands. A bitter wind whispered through the skeletal woods, carrying the echoes of distant laughter and long-gone familiar voices. Fueled by a mix of grief and determination, she navigated through the labyrinth of branches and trunks with the skill of a predator on the hunt.

The chilly breeze nipped at her skin as she advanced, her feet growing numb but her resolve only hardening further.

Faint chatters reached her ears and flickering flames swayed in the distance, the orange hues catching her attention. Her body shook to the point where she had to pause for a brief moment to regain her slipping composure.

As she neared her quarry, a group of figures greeted her hungry eyes and salivating mouth. They sat around a fire, obnoxiously loud and shamefully boisterous. Her blood ran cold. Her jaws clenched tight.

Iliana pressed herself against the rough bark of a nearby tree as if seeking solace in its solid presence and watched.

The flickering light painted grotesque shadows on the snow-covered ground, revealing the faces of those responsible for her anguish. In their careless mirth, there lurked a deeper malevolence. They were not just mocking the tranquility around them; they were mocking the lives they've taken within the folds of bottomless darkness. The stolen breaths, the silenced voices—they were all but a cruel joke to them, a testament to their perceived dominance over the fragility of life.

A distant memory invaded her head where fire would sing and dance as it bathed its surroundings with the cozy glow of life. The villagers would gather around it, laughing, feasting, sharing bonfire fibs and tales as old as winter.

Among these tales, whispers of ghosts had found their way to the ears of the children—translucent, shapeless entities harboring deep vengeance. "Unresolved emotions or unfinished matters can tether a spirit to a particular location or individual," the elder murmured, relishing the trepidation that spread among the youngsters. "They linger where they met their demise, haunting those who harmed them."

Iliana recalled how her body had trembled in fear as her eyes scouted the area. Nevertheless, with the passing years, the stories merely tickled her imagination. They were, after all, nothing more than fabricated tales meant to instill obedience in children or amuse the adults.

Yet, as she closed the distance, moving toward them like a phantom, Iliana acknowledged that the tales weren't entirely fictitious. There she was, after enduring years of ceaseless winters, still haunted by one bedabbled wintry night.

She'd become a ghost, tethered to this band of rogues. They had taken her life that night, binding her to them for a snowbound retribution. They were at the top of the food chain. Everyone else was beneath them, unworthy of life, a waste of space, a bone to chew on. To them, the world was a stage for their callous performance and a mere backdrop for their remorseless revelry.

Fury narrowed her eyes. Her blood simmered.

Ringing filled her ears. Then, haunting screams of utter agony followed, piercing through her aching heart with a chilling resonance. A vision forced its way through her mind of a wintry wonderland bedabbled with running crimson, hot and fresh, searing her agony all the way to the Earth's core and transforming the snow into a tapestry of horror. Iliana glanced at her trembling hands, cold-bitten but burning with the phantom blood of her clan. She struggled to reconcile the cold reality with the fiery turmoil within.

They were all dead.

Shaking the recollections away, Iliana took a step forward, her gaze resolute. Her fists clenched tighter, a silent promise echoing in her mind—justice, death, kill. It was a mantra she'd lived by for years, awaiting this very moment.

They were all dead and these monsters had killed them, sparing no child or woman, no tree or animal, no young or old. The once vibrant village, now reduced to a graveyard in the snow, echoed with the silence of lives abruptly extinguished.

Iliana had stood amidst the aftermath, surrounded by the lifeless bodies of those she had once called kin. The weight of the truth had pressed down on her, the desolation of the scene unfolding before her like a cruel tableau of horror.

She was the sole survivor, a lanky teen yet to experience their first hunt as an official member of the clan. Yet, there she was, a full-fledged rogue hunter about to spill more than blood. She was going to add more color to the unpleasant whiteness blanketing the forest and decorate it with their scattered pieces.

The night held its breath as her fangs protruded, digging into her lower lip. The air crackled with tension and the confrontation loomed as winter bore witness to the impending collision between the merciless and the avenging.

Iliana, however, was both.

As she advanced, she didn't bother to conceal her presence or mind her steps. On the contrary, the rhythmic crunch of snow beneath her boots echoed through the quiet woods, a deliberate cadence announcing her arrival.

Her cloak billowed like a dark specter in the wind, a warning flag of approaching doom.

Word count: 1026.

Total word count: 1026.