On nights when the air was silent apart from a slight breeze, she could almost swear she heard them, the cacophony of voices that were once used by the corpses that stood at the foot of her throne. It was a faint noise, the kind of noise that you could dismiss easily, and she did. After all, it was easier to say that what she was hearing was a distant call of a bird, or something. She'd come up with any reason to discredit the sounds she occassionally heard: after all, there was no evidence that they existed, so they simply didn't in her mind. She was not developing the early onset of the curse; the curse did not exist. Yet, when she heard the cries of those whose own blood she had shed - she was almost positive that if the voices did exist, they were of her victims - there was a part of her that wondered if it really did.

She blinked away the thoughts, looking once more at the city. She had spent her first week back in the League memorizing the layout, something she had to do to accomodate her particular condition. It was so... detached. The League had once been one with the forest, with their ruins, with their garden, fully wild. In her time away, though, it seemed that the core of the League had shifted; no more were they brutal huntresses of the forest. Now, they were a street smart gang. She could accept this transition, but a part of her couldn't help but to reminisce over the forest whose branches were so tightly wound together that sunlight seldom broke through the canopy. Things were simpler when she lived in that forest.

It seemed, though, that she had managed to completely avoid memorizing this particular area, though. Although it was true that most of the buildings looked exactly the same to her - even when she squinted as hard as she could they all looked like giant blobs - this one looked starkly different. "Ah, hell," she meowed, realizing immediately that she was now very lost.