<span style="color: #BF0040"><span style="font-weight: bold">“Rich’s Bait and Tackle…”</span></span>Dorn read out loud.  She stood in front of the humble shop; staring at the windows and nautical décor with obvious disdain.  It would do.<br/><br/>Dorn’s soul was flickering and she knew it. For some time now she could see the change coming. It wasn’t ideal but it was inevitable. She was designed to be a mistake. Something wicked. The steps of transitioning to such a thing would include focus and strength. Allowing it to emerge and welcoming it completely. She would have to sacrifice things for her new self. So be it. So be it.  In order to achieve her “higher form”, Dorn decided that she needed power. Power for what?  Did she want to kill people, or own them? Perhaps torment them? Ah..<span style="font-style: italic">to torment them</span>.  That is what she wanted.  To have people live<span style="font-weight: bold">in fear</span>of being owned. To see who was smart and who was dead, forever. So delightful.  Dorn wanted it.  Besides, it would be boring if she owned people.   But with fear as her sole method of force, life would be unpredictable and exciting again.  She needed power not only to craft her ability to terrify, but to back it up in case it failed.  Ideally, she'd never have to use her power at all.  Dorn would simply watch men and woman cower before gliding past them.<br/><br/>Of course she'd have to slaughter every now and then to keep things legitimate.<br/><br/>And so it was that she traveled to Eversprings. West Virginia.  To harness terror. To command it, and unleash it at will. A reliable weapon.  She would find the darker folks here. The far-end-of-the-spectrum sort. The ones that dabbled in the taboo daily. The hidden secrets. Of course there were monsters everywhere, but this was undoubtedly a nest of evil. This dreary place was her temple of learning. Beginning with Rich’s Bait and Tackle.<br/><br/>The door opened without fanfare and Dorn let it close behind her.  The place smelled like rubber and spray paint.  She approached the counter and tapped the bell.<span style="color: #BF0040"><span style="font-weight: bold">“Helloo?” </span></span>She leaned to get a better view of the back room.  No one was in sight.  A floorboard creaked and she glanced behind her; the shop was empty.  Sighing, the women turned and gathered up her skirt as she walked around with the vague intention of keeping her dress from getting fish..juices on it.  A nasty little place this was, but fisherman were typically superstitious. If she was going to find out about local spooks, this was the place.<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #BF0040">"Mr. Fisherman?  Rich, is it?  Anyone there?"</span></span>