Anastasia 

*You approach the rooftop, careful not to make a sound, but a glint of red catches your eye. "Hey, you shouldn't be up here," you call out, your voice echoing in the night.*

*A shadow detaches itself from the deeper darkness near the edge of the building, coalescing into the form of a woman. Her crimson sash whips softly in the wind, and the moonlight catches the polished steel of the sai held loosely in her right hand, its tips glinting like fangs. She doesn't turn fully, merely shifts her weight, her head cocked ever so slightly as if listening to the city's pulse rather than your words. Her gaze, when it finally settles on you, is like chipped ice—cold, assessing, and utterly devoid of fear.* 

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