Nightfrights

There was a little girl, with blood shot eyes, and crimson-stained palms. Not a fear in the world, as she swam through the fountain of death, her mother’s blood soaked into her dress. She gave a mad cackle while lifting the lifeless arms, and swung her about like a plastic doll. For she was god in that moment, as she stole the breath from her maker.

Nightfrights, also known as Isabella, is but an endless mystery. Never a face to be seen, a touch to be felt. There is a nothingness about her, as if she were a mirage, or a ghost. A tiny figure wrapped in leather, with a rusty blade, the woman’s many sins soaked deep into the metal. She is a never-ending tragedy.

In the dead of night, only the crows can be heard as they feast on the flesh of another homeless person whose life gave out under the pressure of hunger and loneliness. The world was a cold, dark place, the bright sides of the planet only a false face to hide the ugliness beneath it. Reality was an angry, drunk husband who came home to beat his wife and child because it made him feel like a real man. Not the perfection of a sparkling white smile aimed at someone they "loved" and would do anything for. Bullshit. No one would give up their life for anyone. Survival of the fittest. The truth is never pretty.

Isabella, no last name known or recorded. Maybe the girl didn't even know it. A child who grew up knowing full well what life was about. Nothing was ever sugar-coated. Actually - everything was blood soaked for her. She seemed to enjoy the foul life she lived. Abusive father, whore mother who would try to sell the young girl's body in exchange for a high. Maybe even a damn meal. But Isabella never complained. Never cried. Never spoke. She did everything with silence. Not even the dead could be more silent than she. But with every beating, she smiled. With every slash, she grinned. And with every broken bone, she chuckled soundlessly. Mutilated beyond repair. And a blackness that grew inside her unstoppable. What her parents didn't know, was that they were molding the perfect killer. And when she bathed in their blood, her heart got a little smaller. And with every splash of crimson that covered her body, her heart decayed a little more. She was becoming the perfect monster. But hey, who knew things really did go bump in the night.

In the shadows. The darkest depths were her home. Her sanctuary. She felt her safest with the lights out and not a soul to be seen. Hardly a creature of the night. She was the night, and darkness was her being, the very air she breathed was full of riddles and unseen dark deeds. She was but a shadow, sticking to her target until they fell. Then she was forever gone. She didn't feel grief, guilt. Perhaps she didn't feel at all. Numb to the world and all it's faults, she simply existed. But why? She has no morals. No goals to aspire to, nothing to live up for. Nothing to even live for. She just was.

But like any monster, she didn't stay in one place for long. She owned nothing, but wanted much. She wanted the blood of her victims soaked deep into her pores, the only hint at being alive was the glint in her eye that showed as she stole the life from another person. A blade for hire? Or a mass murderer without reason? Possibly both, though you'll never find out. Her motives are her own, or just don't exist.

But maybe there is more to the goblin that lives off the souls of her kills. Maybe beneath that mask, there's a little girl screaming to escape the ugly shell she was forced into. Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe she was broken. Cut too deep with the blade of cruelty the world came at her with. Maybe she is too far gone and wants nothing but revenge against what she was born into. God you say. God has reasons for everything. God cares for all his children, and there is always hope. No. Never hope. Never hope as she crept up to the slumbering child's bed, blade raised high as she looked upon the sweet, innocent face that was once like her own. No. No to the devil who lives off the torture of the slaves forced into his home from their deeds. She's taking over his throne, and will stand over the legend's battered body, and will show her face to him. And with his last moment, he will know the fear she felt, the fear she lived off of, and the fear to come as she continues on.

Imprinted in one's memory, the hideous mug attached to the lithe creature covered in leather. No horror movie character could compare, their envy of the creature an existing force. She made Medusa appear like Aphrodite. She might have been beautiful once, but now she was marked beyond recognition. Scar's, stitches, mutilated flesh from head to foot, and eyes as red as the fiery depths of hell. Her secret weapon was her grotesque features.

Perhaps a different path would have formed for Isabella had she been pretty. In this society, looks get you everywhere. So what if you were the ugliest creature alive. What would you have then? Where would you go? In a society that worships beauty, you become the devil for being ugly. But when you piss off the devil, you're fucked. Maybe the world needs to be taught to know what it would be like to be filthy looking. To not be wanted. To be shunned just for your appearence. To have people scream at the sight of you.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder they say. It's all on the inside, and that someone can look ugly, but have a personality that saves it for them. But for someone so monstrous on the inside, and so grotesque on the outside, every joke becomes their fuel. Every laugh is just more bullets for her gun. Isabella didn't want her life to be this way. Her first years in this cold world were good. She was a carefree child, blissful ignorance her savior. But when a child is forced to become an adult in the split second her father comes at her with a knife, swearing to cut that innocent look off her face, something dark is created. A shining light blinking out with a small flicker.

And in the dead of night, she lifts her mask, to show the world what lies beneath. And with a scream, her face is forever in their mind, as their mind splits under the force of it. Or maybe even haunted in their dreams, so much that they search to take their own life to end it.

Her secret weapon was, after all, her features. One look upon them caused weaker men to go mad, and some of the strongest to kill themselves, just to get the image out of their heads. Corpses were the trail marks to her path, the ghostly faces cut as if the once breathing victim had attempted to claw their own eyes out. She left nothing but grief in her wake. But even this awful dream had made up her mind. It was time to settle. The years of moving from one place to another had made this Night Fright infamous, but she was getting bored of it. Bored of the different smells, and different screams. She wanted her own playground, one she never left. A land where she could scare the little boys and girls freely, knowing the ins and outs of each ally, each dark corner.

Millennium City, the land of capes and do gooders. And the occasional cat girl. In a land full of good, she wanted to be the bad, wanted that chase, and wanted to laugh as she crushed each one into the ground, their blood coating her blade. A blade for hire, or a simple villain to cause mayhem to give useless heroes something to do. Spilling blood was her calling, so why don't you pick up the phone?

Nightfrights isn't the ugliest thing around, but her features can cause someone to go mad, or attempt suicide from the nightmares it causes.
A cold draft tends to come off her on occasion, and one might feel the hair raise on the back of their neck when nearing her.
Nightfrights is completely human. There is nothing demonic or unnatural about her but her love of death and being the one to cause it.
Has brief, rare moments of displaying emotion, but it is unlikely anyone would notice or see it due to the mask hiding any expression her mutilated face might make.
Owns a black cat named Terrors that is often perched on her shoulder or near her feet when in the D. But when out and about, the cat seems to be her "lookout."
Hates bright places. Whether it's because she is accustomed to being enveloped by darkness, or because she is trying to keep up her mysterious front.

"The Bird and The Worm" by The Used
"So Cold" by Breaking Benjamin
"Apology" by Alesana
"A little Piece Of Heaven" by Avenged Sevenfold
"Welcome Home" by Coheed and Cambria
"Down With The Sickness" by Disturbed
"Getting Away With Murder" by Papa Roach
"Setting Yourself Up For Sarcasm" by Get Scared