The smell of smoke, alcohol, and unwashed bodies surrounded the tavern, easily dissuading more highly stationed wanderers from entering the pigsty. The Rough Tide was a disgusting shamble of wood, listing to the right in old age with swollen, broken shudders and greasy windows that let out only a dull glow of yellow light. If any paint had ever tried to gloss the place up, it had long been lost to the tempestous weather of the coast. Ariel's face puckered with displeasure, but she knew this would make it easier to find a stained soul within – her knife felt warm against her hip, an assurance that she'd find what she needed and soon. Her blue eyes, once more akin to the warm shallows of a reef, now seemed icy and distant, as if all soft things had been discarded or locked well away. The bright dreams that had been torn from her by the fickle heart of Prince Eric, attached by cords to deeper hopes, strings to fantastic wishes, had been brutally snapped and withered all that they touched.

A slender hand shoved open the inn's door, her body slipping in through the narrow opening she'd created. She entertained removing her cloak, but Ariel knew that anonymity made it easier for her to keep returning for new victims. She slipped to a far corner and settled in for a long night, the hood casting her face into a shadow that seemed a little too dense to be wholly natural. It didn't take long for a group of sailors to come smashing in, obviously already having finished a few bottles of whisky. Their leader was the loudest and even rather handsome, dark of hair with bright blue eyes. The woman's expression hardened at the familiar features, though they graced a stranger's face. She waited until drink had many of the men drowsing or lurching off after the remaining bar wenches. Quietly, Ariel crept up to the lead sailor and sat near him, her face suddenly visible within the cloak's hood.

“You have caught my eye many times tonight,” she murmured in a husky voice – she'd lose it all too soon.

“Have I indeed?” The man's teeth flashed, showing the forefront being white but glimpses of yellow further in. His hand grabbed hers, tugging her closer as he lifted it to his mouth. “Perhaps I should endeavor to keep your attention, then.” His grip tightened as he stood and drew the cloaked woman towards the door. A couple of nearby men hooted, but Ariel kept her face averted for the sake of staying unknown. She granted her impending victim a dazzling smile, dilated pupils showing a hint of excitement. It was all he needed, though perhaps he had little care for permission anyway, given how warm the knife grew at his nearness. Her skin would surely be branded, she couldn't help but think. 

Letting the man draw her outside and deep into a dark alley, Ariel's disgusted expression was lost in the shadows as he kept her body snug between his and a brick wall. As he tried to woo her with the sloppiness of a drunk, Ariel wrapped a surprisingly cold hand around the bone handle of her knife and drew it free. His mouth was moistening her throat when she shied away with a girlish giggle. His arms stretched out and drew her back in, eyes too full of sexual expectation to see the movement of her hand and the knife. She drew the blade across his throat, twirling away from his grasp again. The splatter of blood stained her black cloak, but otherwise she was spared the mess. His dying cry was soft, ripped from his throat by the necklace's pendant Ariel stared down at her kill and watched the light leave his surprised eyes, only a shade or two darker than her own. Her legs hurt from the quick dance away from the mess, aching more potently than usual. 

Rolling her shoulders, the woman cleaned and sheathed her knife before gritting her teeth against the pain and bending down to grasp the body beneath the arms. She began backpedaling, dragging him along in her wake. She knew a nearby house that was well enough abandoned...