Winter in the city, a beautifully cold night. Snowflakes fall as though feathers from the sky, dusting the dimly lit side street with a clean coat. Well past midnight, most shops closed and gated, tiny lights peeking from few apartment windows. A slight gust of wind whips through the narrow street, squealing softly against the skyscrapers.<br/><br/>Footprints herald her journey, quickly becoming lost in the fresh fall of this winter night. An average woman, roughly 5 and a half feet tall, slender although bundled well, her attire typical for the city; a black turtleneck peeking from a too bright pink jacket, bootcut jeans, a pair of thickly soled black boots. Two factors draw attention, as if the jacket doesn't; long dark brown unkempt hair with a brilliantly white streak frames her pale face. And if one were to have the pleasure, eye contact would yield an unparalleled sight of bright blue eyes meeting theirs.<br/><br/>Her head lowered, she walks quickly against the wind and snow, humming quietly to herself. She has a purpose, would rather be in front of a warm fire with tea, yet needs to finish this task first. After all, even the wicked must eat...