The rain battered hard on the window, drowned out by the screaming woman in the house.

“What do you mean, you’re leaving me?!”

There it was - that look she had seen so many times before. She watched through the man’s eyes as his wife’s heart shattered before her. She grinned in her head, savouring this moment.

“GET OUT!” she wailed.

The woman slammed the door behind her, leaving Anatiel to saunter down the garden path and into the cold, dark night, leaving his ‘sweetheart’ to sob herself to sleep. Laughter slipped her lips at the thought. As she wandered down the street, passers-by looked up and saw a middle-aged man with dark brown hair. Scruffy clothes, a satchel bag over one arm. Beneath all that? A girl, maybe 22 at a glance, with snow-white hair and a sardonic gleam in her eyes.

“I need a new thrall, now,” she mused. “This one’s all used up.”

Almost skipping, she turned down an alley towards the church; behind her, she heard the splashing of puddles. Glancing casually over one shoulder, she noted the Doll Hunter almost dismissively, then scanned the alleyway for simple retreats. When none offered themselves, a gentle sneer crept across her face.

“You are a difficult woman to track, Anatiel,” the Hunter growled. “At least that much has changed.” His voice echoed with such conviction; far too much for a chance encounter. This Hunter had come after her. Not just any puppeteer, but [i]her[/i]. 

She was almost flattered.

“You came here with the intent to kill me, Hunter. However, I’m not unreasonable. I’m willing to let this slide, [i]if[/i] you go and never give thought to such foolishness again. A mercy, if you will.”

“Is that so?” He brandished his weapon. “I’m afraid you have but your life to barter with. I hold all the cards, if you will” 

“On the contrary, I have yours,” she smirked. She could see his eyes flare with anger at that.

“I would never deal with a monster like you.”

She sighed. “I do so [i]deplore[/i] leaving a mess.” 

The satchel flew open, hundreds of origami doves sprang out and circling Anatiel fiercely. The Hunter’s eyes snapped wipe with fear; not that it made much difference. With a dismissive flick of her wrist, the flock darted towards him and through him, each carving loose a ribbon of flesh as it passed. Once the screaming had finally petered away, she dismantled the flock, leaving all but one neatly folded away in her satchel. The last remained perched on what might have been the Doll Hunter’s torso; a warning to those who had yet to learn better.