Blake Blackrose watches from the crowd, her black painted lips in a slight, cruel smile. [i]I wonder who's going to be my next target?[/i] She idly spins a small throwing needle, her weapon of choice. Her tattooed eyes stare around at the common folk. [i]These weaklings disgust me. As if they'll ever catch a true witch. And if they do, those weaklings deserve to die.[/i] She chuckles. [i]I wonder who's going to be burned next? I've always enjoyed the screams.[/i] She looks up at her raven, who's circling above.