Time congeals, a treacle tide, as Ravenelle’s sinews sing the old battle song. Amanda quivers before her, a leaf in a gale, clutching something shiny, something sharp – blade or bullet, death’s siren call? As Amanda’s hand arcs up, a scythe poised to reap, Ravenelle moves, a quicksilver slip, a whisper on the wind.

But o! ‘Tis not the kiss of cold steel that greets her – no, ’tis FIRE, searing, blinding, a dragon’s breath! Ravenelle reels, claws scrabbling at eyes ablaze, comprehension dawning through the inferno – pepper spray, the damsel’s desperate gambit, the only fang she could smuggle through ports and perils untold.

Coherence fractures, shatters, thoughts scattering like startled starlings as liquid agony sinks its teeth into tender orbs. The world warps, twists, a funhouse mirror reflecting only pain. Ravenelle gropes blindly, a newborn mewling thing, furniture her fickle friend and foe. The game board upends, the pieces thrown to the four winds.

Through the miasma, Amanda’s sobs flutter and choke. “I didn’t mean…I’m sorry, I don’t…stay back, stay BACK!”

Then – the slam of a door, the slap of feet on sun-scorched stone, and the lamb is away, fleeing the wolf’s den! Every fiber of Ravenelle’s being shrieks to give chase, to end this farce once and for all, but shock and woe root her fast, tears sluicing down to douse the fires eating her alive.

The quarry scurries free, and Ravenelle bears a brand upon her brow, upon her PRIDE – blinded and bound, laid low by a mere slip of a girl. The enormity of it, the audacity! It would almost warrant a slow clap, if Ravenelle’s hands weren’t busy stoppered the flood.

By sheer dint of will, she drags her broken body to the washroom, fumbles ’til blessed water kisses cursed skin. As the burn ebbs to a sullen throb, she scrubs sight back into abused eyes and beholds her reflection, a gore-spattered ghoul peering back in stark accusation. Mascara streaks her cheeks in inky rivulets, a harlequin’s mask of misery. The unshakeable queen of cool, undone at last.

A laugh, jagged as broken glass, bubbles up her throat. Of course, OF COURSE Amanda would reduce her to this, a sniveling wreck marooned in some flea-bitten backwater! But wait, what’s that sound? The creak of a spine snapping straight, the rasp of flint on steel, the hiss of a serpent uncoiling to strike. Amanda may have bloodied her, may have cracked that alabaster facade, but the venom…o, the venom bubbles.

One text, two, ten – marionette strings plucked ‘cross continents. DISASTER PROTOCOLS ACTIVE. WAYWARD WOLF STILL STALKING. The game is not yet done, the curtain not yet dropped. Ravenelle will not crawl back to her puppeteers with hat in hand and tail tucked ‘tween legs. The show must – WILL – go on.

Onto the sun-cracked streets she sweeps, vipers on her feet and venom in her veins! Gucci on her eyes to gird against Apollo’s glare, glamour donned anew to shield the shame. Now…now to FLUSH the fox from her hidey-hole, smoke her out and hang her high!

Minutes stretch to hours, hours to eternities as the net draws tighter, agents scurrying hither and thither through Lavrio’s crumbling maze. Ravenelle marshals her forces from a cafe perch, a black widow fat with rage, conducting a symphony of retribution.

But o! What’s this fell news, borne on raven’s wings? Amanda slipped the snare, vanished into the heaving throng, a wisp of smoke on a wayward wind! Nikos, loyal Nikos, hulking and cowed, stammers his apologies, but Ravenelle hears naught but the roar of a thousand harpies in her skull.

No, no NO! This will not STAND! This INSULT, this INJURY, dealt by a mere CHIT of a girl, a dewy-eyed Delilah with pepper spray and a dream! Ravenelle sees red, tastes blood, hears the siren song of madness beckoning just beyond the veil.

With a flex of will, she muzzles mayhem…for now. Instead, she rises, a dark goddess mantled in wrath, and addresses her flock, the gawkers and ghouls entranced by her infernal charisma:

“Attend, ye mighty and ye meek, for Tragedy stalks this salt-scoured shore! The muses weep, Melpomene rends her robe, and I…I am undone!”

Her baleful gaze sweeps the crowd, lingers on the ladies of the night, plying their trade in shadow’s skirts. A grotesque notion unfurls, a plot most foul, most fair…

“Harken, harlots and heretics all! Whisper this name in thy sordid prayers, in the sweat-soaked sheets where sins are sold: AMANDA FIELDS. Find her, bring her to me…and know riches beyond reckoning. Fail…and know only ruin.”

A beat, a breath, a swelling of the tide…then CHAOS, glorious CHAOS as the damned and depraved surge forth to claim their prize, the promise of perdition in a raven’s purr!

Ravenelle reclines, a goddess glutted on despair, and stares unseeing at the steel-grey sea. Madness nibbles the edges of her mind, a mouse gorging on reason’s rinds. But through it all, a single purpose crystallizes, sharp and cold as winter’s first frost:

Amanda will be found. Amanda will be FLAYED. And Ravenelle’s legend will grow, a black bloom strangling all who dare defy her.

The game is not yet done, o no.

It’s only just begun.

And the Grandeur watches, implacable, immutable, a dark fortress for a darker queen.

Woe betide the fool who dares to dream of freedom.

In Ravenelle’s world, there is only servitude…

Or oblivion.

Choose wisely, Amanda Fields.

Choose wisely.

Not. The. End.