A beady, black eyed crow watched the fall of the Lady Asyr to the ground. It observed her humiliation, her despair. Unblinking, it watched the affair between the two humans with indifference – and when it was all over - it nonchalantly took off into a quick low flight.

Meanwhile, many miles away across the ocean, the Witch of the South sat in her castle, vexed. It was a dark place with very little light, and clustered with décor of animal pelts, human skins and vials upon vials of poisons; most of them her own. But yet, inside here, perfect sense of it all. Here was the only “home” she knew. The throne was her favourite part – the arm rests were embedded in spikes, and it was here that Marissa kept the wounds on her fingers fresh and open. In a sense, the constant pain gave a sobering effect that could counter the constant exposure to her own power, and balanced out her personality[ies] to some degree.

[I]“The black feathered crow is supposed to foretell the death and destruction of a person, or a city… [B]Tell me why then, that you couldn’t foretell this?????”[/B][/I] As her anger grew, the crow continued to fly at a dangerous speed until it collided with a hard armoured rusty metallic suit. [I]”What? Ah… I’m so sorry. Come back to me, my child… I need you, I love you…”[/I] Marissa had a brief second to realise that she had never actually seen this type of armoury before, before her vision on the foreign state turned black. [i](...What was that? A hero messing around with his powers? Government Protocol?...)[/I] No matter what that was, the crow’s broken neck had already taken it’s toll.

[I]”I’m sorry… I couldn’t prevent your death, I…”[/I] Marissa peeled herself away from her stone throne. She could just about vaguely, intuitively feel the dead crow’s feathers ruffling in the slow breeze; far, far away. [I]”I… don’t leave me…”[/I] As she peeled her fingers away from the arm rests, blood slushed through the throne before landing on cold marble floor – and part of it got mopped up by her cascading hair. A thick mist fumed from her hands, then later calmed down like a quiet candle flame. Slowly, and for the first time in years, the Witch of the South was about to make her way out of the black palace.

[I]”24 hours was it? Give me 24 hours to fall in love with you, I promise. I will love you like no other.”[I] 
On unspoken command, 3 heavily suited guards in brown and grey turned to follow her lead, whilst the rest of her kingdom stirred – Marissa herself ignored the commotion, whilst her subconscious orchestrated it all. Wild dogs howled and big cats roared in cacophony at her arrival (or was it an animalistic requiem for the fallen superhero?) Whilst sentries of men in varying degrees of armour hailed attention.
Wincing, Marissa stepped out into the sunset. Long, Long time since that happened last – even this low level of light in the open air was almost unbearable. At least this way, she had the cool darkness of the night to look forward to. It must still be mid-afternoon in the West? And how does a villain make her way into New York without, say, the whole nation noting her arrival?

A few more soldiers stood vigil outside a whirring helicopter. Marissa smiled slightly – it seemed that her subconscious was able to organise something right after all. It was quite clearly a foreign machine – probably European. Or American. In a world where advances in technology seems to whizz straight past Marissa, it was hard to tell anymore. 24 hours. She had to find and fall in love with Lady Asyr in 24 hours. A difficult task no less, but the witch was certain she could find a way.