It was a windy night in Lómëdor, and the moon shone bright upon the peaks of the houses, and slipping its beams into the dark and narrow alleyways that were scattered across the city. Wandering amid the countless villas and homes was a young woman, appearing to be no more than perhaps twenty-one. Her hair was as black as the midnight sky above her, and her skin was the shade of the moon, a pale, flawless ivory, it seemed. Her adornments were simple, a long black skirt, and a sleeveless top with a low collar, of the same color. In her hand she carried a weapon that, in a more rural setting, might have appeared to be harmless and innocent in purpose. But here, in the shadows of the city, there was no mistaking what her gleaming scythe represented: the grim specter of death. It was truly death that this woman carried, not only in her hand, but also in her heart. She was one of the morbid fairy-tales that mothers used to tell their children into proper behavior. She had ascended from the deepest pits of the underworld, somehow unscathed, it seemed, though one could no longer recognize her for who she once was. An innocent demon, it seemed. But evil was in her black blood, and though her spirit remained pure, she was a beacon of death, and all who saw her knew her purpose. She was sick of serving as a reaper, bound by laws and limits. She wanted freedom; and she wanted to sin.

Tonight, the pure soul would be as black as the shadows she stalked. She would fall to the bottom of the ring, and she would love every moment of it. But now, in the winter night, she needed to first find an opportunity. These things usually present themselves, she thought to herself. I’ll walk until I discover the means.

“I need only find my first victim. Then, nothing will hold me back. I’ll slaughter them like a wolf among sheep.”

Cheshire Bingham slinked out of the doorway of a small cottage in the poor part of Lómëdor. His smooth, fluffy tail was swiftly followed by a worn-looking straw broom, which was being swatting in his direction. “Get out of my house, you good for nothing scoundrel! You don’t even catch the mice, you blasted beast? You good-for-nothing, worthless waste of fur!” With a slight smile on his lips, Cheshire Bingham, his fur a simple brown, turned and said to the woman, with a tone of mock piety and sadness, “Why, my dearest woman, you sting me with your words! All of these months you showed me kindness, but have I not been deceived? I thought you did it out of the kindness of your heart, to help a poor little kitten like me. Only now I discover that you have been trying to use me for your own selfish ends? How appalling!”

The woman stuttered, astounded that this creature could speak. Her voice was weak and shaky, and her tone was clearly apologetic. “You… You can talk, puss? I… I’m amazed. Please, forgive me, my dear puss. You are clearly full of wonder and wisdom.” With a sinister grin on his face, that the woman mistook for a smile, he said, “Do you know what else, my dear?” Raising his right paw, he flexed it, and long, sharp talons three inches long came out. “‘Little Puss’ has claws.” With that, his form contorted to a monstrous mix between a tiger and a housecat, and he slew the woman with ruthless and callous brutality. Quickly shifting back to his housecat form, he shook himself, his feet leaving paw-prints of blood. He muttered to himself in his sweet, sinister voice, saying, “Well, I suppose that there are probably more glorious ways for the chosen of Raku to spend his months, but ah, wasn’t the pie worth it. Now to find my next bit of fun.” With a shudder, he shifted, and his fur took on an unnatural dark purple shade, with blood-red stripes, just as one does when discarding old and despised clothes.

He saw a young, pale woman wandering the alleyways, and curiosity over took him. You know they say it killed the… never mind. He slinked up to her in his deceptively charming way, and said, “Well my dear, whatever could bring a woman such as you to the dim alleys?”

The dark maiden continued her wandering until at last, an opportunity presented itself, it seemed. A strange looking cat slinked into the alley, a most disturbing shade of purple, with blood-red stripes along his back. He moved with a suave charm, like the sleaze that approached her every time she stopped in a pub. But there was something different about this strange creature, he spoke to her, his words almost seeming to come from her own mind, as she stood almost hypnotized by the gentle but eerie stare of the creature’s purple eyes, nothing more than slits.

“Well my dear, whatever could bring a woman such as you to the dim alleys?”

For a moment, the strangest thought entered her mind, for she felt as though she had been waiting for this creature, as one waits for an old friend at an appointed meeting place. She shifted her weight, and shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She couldn’t let this creature get to her. What was it about him that made him so enchanting? He was an abomination at worst, and a demonic creature, at best.

It’s a cat, Verdani, nothing more. Get a hold on yourself.

Smiling ever so seductively, she spoke to him in a flirtatious tone. “Oh nothing much, little puss. Looking for a good time, you might say. Looks like I found it.” Her smile changed to a malicious, wicked grin, and, shifting the scythe in her hand, she swung it up into the air, and brought it down in one mighty stroke, aiming for the creature’s midsection.

Swishing his bushy tail back and forth, Cheshire Bingham laughed to himself at the effect he was having on this strange woman. Bingham smirked when the woman began to act like a flirt. “Oh nothing much, little puss. Looking for a good time, you might say. Looks like I found it.” The strange creature’s lips curled in a smile, as he saw the gleaming scythe suddenly swing upwards, with the clear intention of making him a bit thinner. Darting out of the way, he laughed at the sound of the scythe hitting the pavement. Spinning around, his tail swishing like a tiger about to pounce. He began to speak once more, trying to pacify the situation, before resorting to force.

“Well, while you’re breaking pavement, I’ll try to break the ice. My name is Cheshire Bingham, and I am the Chosen of Raku, Lord of Darkness and Death. As you seem to bring a wonderful touch of the macabre to this hopelessly cheery town, I thought that perhaps you might be interested in a proposition, in which you have your ‘good time’, and I’m remaining the good, healthy weight that I am. I assure you, you’ll enjoy it, and the undertaker will still receive his wages tonight. So, what say you we put away the shiny, before someone gets hurt, eh? After all, you’re not the only one with shiny.”

With that, the cursed spawn of the darkness, though only a housecat he seemed, flashed his long, gleaming talons, which could rend flesh with ease.