Emi’s lonely days were punctuated only by the cold that she loved so much. Dawnshire was quiet, and she hated it. The war was over, although she had heard speak of war between Tarben and Sabertooth. She hoped Dawnshire would jump in. Because, seriously, Emilia’s days were lonely and boring. She wanted bloodshed and fighting. The euphoria of her kill of the Dane King & Queen’s son still hung by her, one kill in the dozens she’d performed in her life.
She had also become a kitsune, wielder of the darkness of the voids that so surely existed in the earth. Her power was weak, but she enjoyed being a Sunemental.
When she wandered out of the grounds for a little distraction, she heard a scream. Emi perked up. She began to dash to the direction where she’d heard the scream. She soon came to a forest she’d never seen before, sparkling with the shining light of fireflies. Emilia’s three tails waved as she journeyed in.
Barely a few feet in, she stepped on a night-bright stone, and her spine was accosted by a shudder like a jolt of lightning. She held in a gasp. And then, much to her chagrin, she fainted . . . again.

“Who shot that arrow in your throat, who missed the crimson apple?”